He buys the stuff, and hands in his bills; but the bills
he pays are not submitted. It is conceivable that there may be a
discrepancy between the two amounts, and it might be interesting to
learn whether he alone benefits by it.
Guards walk up and down the aisles between the tables, during meals, to
keep order and also to attend to complaints or requests from prisoners.
There is also the man in the window with the loaded magazine rifle,
ready to settle any complaints that become too insistent. The common
protest is against the badness of a specific piece of food, or against
some example of dirt. The former seldom get relief; in the latter case,
the dish or cup is sometimes changed.
A prisoner at my table called the guard's attention to a quid of tobacco
which had got into his soup. The guard, who was of a humorous turn,
replied, smiling, "Well, you use tobacco, don't you?" and passed on.
This was the same guard who assaulted and clubbed a prisoner whom he was
taking downstairs, as described in a previous chapter. On another
occasion, a prisoner complained that there was a beetle in his hash. An
examination was made; but whether the beetle was alive and got away, or
whether the prisoner himself had "bugs," as the slang is, at any rate
the examiners reported no beetle. The matter was then brought before the
authorities, who ordered the complainant to the dark hole.
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