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He glanced wistfully up at the sky, but the bright sun dazzled and blinded him. It was a long walk he took, and he did not walk fast. It took him past the jute-mill. The muffled roar of the loom room came to his ears, and he smiled. It was a gentle, placid smile. He hated no one, not even the pounding, shrieking machines. There was no bitterness in him, nothing but an inordinate hunger for rest.
A brother in finance of some astuteness, who saw him scramble into his gharry, divined that with regard to a weighty matter in jute-mill shares pending, Lindsay had decided upon a coup, and made his arrangements accordingly.
In Calcutta the British jute-mill owners have set a splendid example to Indian employers of labour, and the mill-hands, now largely imported from other provinces, not only work under the best possible conditions of light and air, but are housed in spacious quarters specially built for them, well ventilated and scientifically drained, with playing-fields and elementary schools for the swarms of children who certainly look healthy and well-fed and happy.
It was at the beginning of my incorrigibility, shortly after my entrance to prison, when I was weaving my loom-task of a hundred yards a day in the jute-mill and finishing two hours ahead of the average day. Yes, and my jute-sacking was far above the average demanded.
After my sentence, I came to spend the rest of my "natural life" in the prison of San Quentin. I proved incorrigible. An incorrigible is a terrible human being at least such is the connotation of "incorrigible" in prison psychology. I became an incorrigible because I abhorred waste motion. The prison, like all prisons, was a scandal and an affront of waste motion. They put me in the jute-mill.
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