I was taken downstairs and locked in a cell; I saw no more of the “bull pen” where I spent the night. My cellmate was a handsome, smiling young fellow about twenty-two or twenty-three. He looked like a country boy, rugged, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, sandy-haired. He seemed to be well acquainted in the jail.
Someone sang out, “Who’s the fresh fish, Smiler?”
“Another vag,” he answered. “Fifteen days.”
I told him about my case at once. I felt outraged.
“Forget it, kid. Your fifteen days will be in before your name’s dry on the commitment. They won’t put you on the gang. You’ll get a trusty job. I’m just finishing ten days, haven’t been out of this cell, goin’ out this afternoon and out of this man’s town, too,” he smiled. “Let’s eat. You’ve got money in the office. I’ll send for a messenger.”
“All right,” I said, “do it.”
A trusty took my name and our orders. Smiler ordered tobacco and papers also. A messenger came in an hour with two meals and the makings of smokes. I signed my name on the check and he was paid at the office. After we ate, Smiler sang songs, danced, or stood at the door waiting to be released.
“I’m going West, kid; hope I see you on the road so I can return that feed,” he said, when the trusty came to release him.
I liked The Smiler and wished I could be with him. In the morning coffee and stale bread were served in the cells. Fifteen minutes later there was a banging of doors. Someone shouted “Chain gang.” My door was opened.
“Outside, kid,” said a trusty.
I followed other prisoners down the corridor to a big, open room where they washed up in running water at a sink and dried themselves with handkerchiefs. The trusty came with my hat.
“You won’t need your coat, kid. I’ll look out for it.”