drinking, — of brooding about in a high-shouldered reluctant style, — of taking out his great horn-handled jackknife and wiping it on his legs and cutting his food, — of lifting light glasses and cups to his lips, as if they were clumsy pannikins, — of chopping a wedge off his bread, and soaking up with it the last fragments of gravy round and round his plate, as if to make the most of an allowance, and then drying his finger-ends on it, and then swallowing it, — in these ways and a thousand other small nameless instances arising every minute in the day, there was Prisoner, Felon, Bondsman, plain as plain could be.

It had been his own idea to wear that touch of powder, and I had conceded the powder after overcoming the shorts. But I can compare the effect of it, when on, to nothing but the