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"Get in there," said the trusty, whose name was Thomas Kuby, pointing to one of the tubs. Cowperwood realized that this was the beginning of petty official supervision; but he deemed it wise to appear friendly even here. "I see," he said. "I will." "That's right," replied the attendant, somewhat placated. "What did you bring?" Cowperwood looked at him quizzically. He did not understand.
"Yuh got off easy," commented Kuby. "I'm up for ten. A rube judge did that to me." Kuby had never heard of Cowperwood's crime. He would not have understood its subtleties if he had. Cowperwood did not want to talk to this man; he did not know how. He wished he would go away; but that was not likely. He wanted to be put in his cell and let alone.
"Don't forget to wash your head, too," said Kuby, and went away. Cowperwood stood there while the water ran, meditating on his fate. It was strange how life had dealt with him of late so severely. Unlike most men in his position, he was not suffering from a consciousness of evil. He did not think he was evil. As he saw it, he was merely unfortunate.
The prison attendant realized that this man did not know the lingo of the place. "What did you bring?" he repeated. "How many years did you get?" "Oh!" exclaimed Cowperwood, comprehendingly. "I understand. Four and three months." He decided to humor the man. It would probably be better so. "What for?" inquired Kuby, familiarly. Cowperwood's blood chilled slightly. "Larceny," he said.
"That's too bad," he answered; and the convict realized clearly that this man was really not one of them, or he would not have said anything like that. Kuby went to the two hydrants opening into the bath-tub and turned them on. Cowperwood had been undressing the while, and now stood naked, but not ashamed, in front of this eighth-rate intelligence.
It was a grim theory, and yet one definitely enforced here, although as he was to learn later even this could be modified here. "You'll have to put this on," Kuby said, and opened it in such a way that it could be put over Cowperwood's head. Cowperwood understood. He had heard of it in some way, in times past.
He went back into the wash-room and produced what Cowperwood had heard of but never before seen a blue-and-white-striped cotton bag about half the length of an ordinary pillow-case and half again as wide, which Kuby now unfolded and shook out as he came toward him. It was a custom.
He was thus conducted seeing nothing in his transit down a short walk, then through a long corridor, then through a room of uniformed guards, and finally up a narrow flight of iron steps, leading to the overseer's office on the second floor of one of the two-tier blocks. There, he heard the voice of Kuby saying: "Mr. Chapin, here's another prisoner for you from Mr. Kendall."
It fitted well enough, slipping down close over his ears, and he thought that now his indignities must be about complete. What could be added? There could be no more of these disconcerting accoutrements. But he was mistaken. "Now, Kuby, you take him to Mr. Chapin," said Kendall. Kuby understood.
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