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tence. If you are good and attend to your own business you will be summoned before the pardon board when you have served ten months and given a hearing, and it is then determined when you are to go out.

When the sheriff brings a new prisoner, he takes him into the warden's office, and turns over the commitment papers there. Some of the sheriffs will tell the warden what a good man he is bringing, and others will tell him what a bad man the prisoner is. There is one sheriff from the sand hills, who usually tells that he is bringing a notorious desperado, that he had an awful time capturing him, but that he finally landed him. The warden sizes up the new man and takes him into the office of the chief clerk where he is booked and given a number.

He then turns over the money he has for deposit in the prison bank, and his jewelry for the safety deposit vault, and his cigarette papers for the waste basket. From there he is taken to the office of the turnkey, and now

 

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he is behind the prison bars. Here is where many a prisoner breaks down and cries (when the turnkey opens the large steel door and bids him enter) for he realizes that he is now a convict and that he must remain here perhaps for a long time. I believe that in more than half the cases, were he pardoned right then and there, that he would never again trespass against the laws of the land. I have seen many a young fellow break down and cry bitterly, and often I have tried to comfort him, and tell him not to worry, that the place is not as bad as it is painted and that before long, perhaps he will gain his liberty. This makes them feel better; they know they have a friend at the prison who sympathizes with them, and with a somewhat lighter heart the new prisoner proceeds to the Bertillon room, where the assistant deputy warden makes a record of every mark and scar upon his body and measures the length and width of his head, his height, length of his nose, of his left little finger, of

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his forearm, and of his left foot. His picture is taken, and all this is filed away in case he should escape later on. Then he puts on his prison uniform of gray and is now a full fledged convict.

He is then taken before the deputy warden, who asks him to what church he belongs, what education he received, whether he uses tobacco, opium or liquors, how long he has lived in Nebraska and what his occupation is. Also he states the name and postoffice address of his wife, children, father, mother, brothers and sisters, and all this is carefully recorded. He signs an authority for the warden to receive and open his mail, and he is asked to sign not only his name but his number as well. The number is, however, only used as a matter of record and he is always called by his name, and never by his number. It is explained to him that it pays to be good, and that the better he is the sooner he gets out. The incoming man usually assures the deputy that he is going

 

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to be good, for he wants to go home as soon as possible. Once in a while a prisoner acts contrary; and I once heard a new negro tell that he was a bad, bad man and that he could stand upon his head a few years if necessary. "All right, my boy," said the deputy, "we have had several here like you, they came in like roaring lions but went out like little lambs. Your case shall have my special attention, and you will be a good boy before you know it." A German gentleman was received once, who asked the deputy if he could work at his trade. "What is your trade?" said the deputy warden. "I am a glass blower," was the reply. There being but few bottles blown in Lancaster, the deputy warden thought it better for him to make brooms for a few years, and thus have two trades, instead of one.

A young Roumanian (sic) came in from Box Butte county and asked if he could work as interpreter. He spoke all the mongrel languages of the Balkan lands, and Arabian