Page 633 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

swer. ‘Troke, let us see if we can’t find Mr. Dawes’s tongue.
Pull off your shirt, my man. I expect that’s the way to your
heart—eh, boys?’
At this elegant allusion to the lash, the gang laughed
again, and looked at each other astonished. It seemed pos-
sible that the leader of the ‘Ring’ was going to turn milksop.
Such, indeed, appeared to be the case, for Dawes, trembling
and pale, cried, ‘Don’t flog me again, sir! I picked it up in
the yard. It fell out of your coat one day.’ Frere smiled with
an inward satisfaction at the result of his spirit-breaking.
The explanation was probably the correct one. He was in
the habit of wearing flowers in his coat and it was impos-
sible that the convict should have obtained one by any other
means. Had it been a fig of tobacco now, the astute Com-
mandant knew plenty of men who would have brought it
into the prison. But who would risk a flogging for so useless
a thing as a flower? ‘You’d better not pick up any more, Jack,’
he said. ‘We don’t grow flowers for your amusement.’ And
contemptuously flinging the rose over the wall, he strode
away.
The gang, left to itself for a moment, bestowed their at-
tention upon Dawes. Large tears were silently rolling down
his face, and he stood staring at the wall as one in a dream.
The gang curled their lips. One fellow, more charitable
than the rest, tapped his forehead and winked. ‘He’s going
cranky,’ said this good-natured man, who could not under-
stand what a sane prisoner had to do with flowers. Dawes
recovered himself, and the contemptuous glances of his
companions seemed to bring back the colour to his cheeks.

For the Term of His Natural Life