I got up and went my way with the thought that I had got more out of that prison and its keepers than they got out of me. I think the same today of every prison I went into. There were times when I thought I got a bit more punishment than was coming to me, but I don’t regret a minute of it now. Each of us must be tempered in some fire. Nobody had more to do with choosing the fire that tempered me than myself, and instead of finding fault with the fire I give thanks that I had the metal to take the temper and hold it.

I have hopes that these lines will be read by many convicts and ex-convicts, and they are nothing if not critical readers. I am not trying to lay down any rules and regulations for their guidance on the outside, but I want to say this⁠—any prisoner who comes out of prison saying to himself, “I can’t quit; it’s too late; I’m wrecked and ruined; every man’s hand’s against me; if I get a job some copper will snitch on me to my boss, or if that don’t happen the other cons will blackmail me; there’s no use trying, I can’t quit”⁠—any ex-con who says that is sentencing himself to a jolt that the most heartless and hard-boiled criminal-court judge couldn’t conceive of.

The other con who comes out time after time saying to himself cold-bloodedly and calculatingly, “I won’t quit,” might change his mind sometime and say, “I will quit.” When he wills it, he does it, and no copper snitches him out of his job. If there is any such animal as the blackmailing ex-con he gives the “will” chap a wide berth.

I now went to Vancouver and took it easy for a week, resting up, reading papers, and trying to get my bearings. I saw nothing of Chew Chee, the China boy. He didn’t show up in the prison while I was there, and I have no doubt he quit stealing while he was all to the good and went on the square.