Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/159

 for months afterwards. I ain't right down there now; I've got a bad rupture, and sometimes it feels as if there was a knife being twisted around inside of me. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd got me right, but to give a man a deal like that dead wrong is hell, let me tell you"

As we stepped into the barber shop there was a noticeable air of expectancy. The word had passed through the prison that the new warden had released "Ed" Morrell from "solitary." All but one of the half dozen barbers were strangers to Morrell. They had been committed to the prison after his siege of solitary confinement had begun. The one exception was old Frank, a lifer with twenty years' service behind him

He took a step backward and a hush fell over the little group.

"With all due respect, Ed, you're the finest living picture of Jesus Christ that I've ever seen, so help me God. And, Ed," he added, hastily, his voice breaking, "we're all Jesus Christs, if we'd only remember it."

Prisons

(Anarchist lecturer and writer; born in Russia, 1869)

Year after year the gates of prison hells return to the world an emaciated, deformed, will-less ship-*wrecked crew of humanity, with the Cain mark on their foreheads, their hopes crushed, all their natural inclinations thwarted. With nothing but hunger and inhumanity to greet them, these victims soon sink back into crime as the only possibility of existence. It is not at