He looked at a telegram on his desk. “Hold anybody found with him.”

They searched us thoroughly and held everything found on us. We were locked up alone, in separate cells. “You’ve got plenty of money, boys,” said the jailer, “you can buy anything you want in the way of food and tobacco.”

I sat on the side of my iron cot, wondering who had kicked over the bean pot. A rat-eyed trusty came down the corridor and stopped in front of George’s cell, directly across from mine. “What’s the trouble, old-timer?”

George looked at him coldly. “Oh, nothing much. I just bit a baby’s arm off.”

The trusty went away. Something told him to ask no more questions.