" That's all right," he said, looking around him in an 
uncertain way. " I'm ready." 
He stepped out into the hall, with scarcely a farewell 
glance, and to Bonhag, who was grieving greatly over the 
loss of so profitable a customer, he said: " I wish you would 
see that some of these things are sent over to my house, 
Walter. You're welcome to the chair, that clock, this 
mirror, those pictures—all of these things in fact, except 
my linen, razors, and so forth." 
This last little act of beneficence soothed Bonhag's 
lacerated soul a little. They went out into the receiving 
overseer's office, where Cowperwood laid aside his prison 
suit and the soft shirt with a considerable sense of relief. 
The clog shoes had long since been parted with for a 
better pair of his own. He put on his well-preserved 
derby hat and his gray overcoat—the one he had worn 
the year before, on entering, and expressed himself as 
ready. At the entrance of the prison he turned and 
looked back—one last glance—at the iron door leading 
into the garden. 
" You don't regret leaving that, do you, Frank ?" 
asked Steger, curiously. 
" I surely don't," replied Cowperwood. " It wasn't that I 
was thinking of. It was just the appearance of it, that's all." 
In another minute they were at the outer gate, where 
Cowperwood shook the warden finally by the hand. He 
and Steger and Wingate and Leigh then entered a car- 
riage outside the large, impressive, Gothic entrance; the 
gates locked behind them; and they drove away. 
" Well, there's an end of that, Frank," observed Steger, 
gayly; " that will never bother you any more." 
" Yes," replied Cowperwood. " It's worse to see it 
coming than going." 
" It seems to me we ought to celebrate this occasion 
in some way," observed Walter Leigh. " It won't do 
just to take Frank home. Why don't we all go down to 
Green's? That's a good idea."