Desmas decided, therefore, that if Cowperwood were persona non grata to the “Big Three,” it might be necessary to be indifferent to him, or at least slow in extending him any special favors.  For Stener a good chair, clean linen, special cutlery and dishes, the daily papers, privileges in the matter of mail, the visits of friends, and the like.  For Cowperwood—­well, he would have to look at Cowperwood and see what he thought.  At the same time, Steger’s intercessions were not without their effect on Desmas.  So the morning after Cowperwood’s entrance the warden received a letter from Terrence Relihan, the Harrisburg potentate, indicating that any kindness shown to Mr. Cowperwood would be duly appreciated by him.  Upon the receipt of this letter Desmas went up and looked through Cowperwood’s iron door.  On the way he had a brief talk with Chapin, who told him what a nice man he thought Cowperwood was.

Desmas had never seen Cowperwood before, but in spite of the shabby uniform, the clog shoes, the cheap shirt, and the wretched cell, he was impressed.  Instead of the weak, anaemic body and the shifty eyes of the average prisoner, he saw a man whose face and form blazed energy and power, and whose vigorous erectness no wretched clothes or conditions could demean.  He lifted his head when Desmas appeared, glad that any form should have appeared at his door, and looked at him with large, clear, examining eyes—­those eyes that in the past had inspired so much confidence and surety in all those who had known him.  Desmas was stirred.  Compared with Stener, whom he knew in the past and whom he had met on his entry, this man was a force.  Say what you will, one vigorous man inherently respects another.  And Desmas was vigorous physically.  He eyed Cowperwood and Cowperwood eyed him.  Instinctively Desmas liked him.  He was like one tiger looking at another.

Instinctively Cowperwood knew that he was the warden.  “This is Mr. Desmas, isn’t it?” he asked, courteously and pleasantly.

“Yes, sir, I’m the man,” replied Desmas interestedly.  “These rooms are not as comfortable as they might be, are they?” The warden’s even teeth showed in a friendly, yet wolfish, way.

“They certainly are not, Mr. Desmas,” replied Cowperwood, standing very erect and soldier-like.  “I didn’t imagine I was coming to a hotel, however.”  He smiled.

“There isn’t anything special I can do for you, is there, Mr. Cowperwood?” began Desmas curiously, for he was moved by a thought that at some time or other a man such as this might be of service to him.  “I’ve been talking to your lawyer.”  Cowperwood was intensely gratified by the Mr. So that was the way the wind was blowing.  Well, then, within reason, things might not prove so bad here.  He would see.  He would sound this man out.

“I don’t want to be asking anything, Warden, which you cannot reasonably give,” he now returned politely.  “But there are a few things, of course, that I would change if I could.  I wish I might have sheets for my bed, and I could afford better underwear if you would let me wear it.  This that I have on annoys me a great deal.”