"I have been telling my friend," said Oscar to the warder, "how good you
have been to me," and he turned and went, leaving with me the memory of
his eyes and unforgettable smile; but I noticed as he disappeared that
he was thin, and looked hunched up and bowed, in the ugly ill-fitting
prison livery. I took out a bank note and put it under the blotting
paper that had been placed on the table for me. In two or three minutes
the warder came back, and as I left the room I thanked him for being
kind to my friend, and told him how kindly Oscar had spoken of him.

"He has no business here, sir," the warder said. "He's no more like one
of our reg'lars than a canary is like one of them cocky little spadgers.
Prison ain't meant for such as him, and he ain't meant for prison. He's
that soft, sir, you see, and affeckshunate. He's more like a woman, he
is; you hurt 'em without meaning to. I don't care what they say, I likes
him; and he do talk beautiful, sir, don't he?"

"Indeed he does," I said, "the best talker in the world. I want you to
look in the pad on the table. I have left a note there for you."

"Not for me, sir, I could not take it; no, sir, please not," he cried in
a hurried, fear-struck voice. "You've forgotten something, sir, come
back and get it, sir, do, please. I daren't."

In spite of my remonstrance he took me back and I had to put the note in
my pocket.

"I could not, you know, sir, I was not kind to him for that." His manner
changed; he seemed hurt.