Between the first and second parts of the programme, we have an encouraging report from the Secretary of the League, none other than our friend Richards, whose cynical pessimism of last July has been replaced by an almost flamboyant optimism as he toils night and day in the service of the League. We have also speeches of congratulation and good cheer from two other members of the Commission on Prison Reform, who have come from a distance to greet this dawn of the new era.
Then after the applause for the last musical number has died away, the long line of march begins again. In perfect order and without a whisper after they have fallen into line, the 1,400 men march back and shut themselves into their cells. One of the prison keepers who stands by, watching this wonderful exhibition of discipline, exclaims in profane amazement, "Why in Hell can't they do that for us?"
The men have been back in their cells about an hour when an unexpected test is made of their loyalty and self-restraint. As I am about to leave the prison and stand chatting with Richards at his desk in the back office, the electric lights begin to flicker and die down.
Richards and I have just been talking of the great success of the League's first meeting and the good conduct of the men. "Now you will have the other side of it," says Richards. "Listen and you will hear the shouts and disorder that always come when the lights go out."
Dimmer and dimmer grow the lights, while Richards and I listen intently at the window in the great iron door which opens onto the gallery of the north wing.
The lights go entirely out, and still not a sound. Not even a cough comes from the cells to disturb the perfect silence.
We remain about half a minute in the dark, listening at the door. Then the lights begin to show color, waver, grow lighter, go out altogether for a second, and then burn with a steady brightness.
I look at Richards. He is paler than usual, but there is a bright gleam in his eyes. "I would not have believed it possible," he says impressively, "such a thing has never happened in this prison before. The men always yell when the lights go out. In all my experience I have never known anything equal to that. I don't understand it.