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There was nothing there to get alarmed about。 Delacroix had wept briefly after turning in … he did most nights； and more for himself than for the folks he had roasted alive； I am quite sure … and then had take Mr。 Jingles； the mouse； out of the cigar box he slept in。 That had calmed Del； and he had slept like a baby the rest of the night。 Mr。 Jingles had most likely spent it on Delacroix's stomach； with his tail curled over his paws； eyes unblinking。 It was as if God had decided Delacroix needed a guardian angel； but had decreed in His wisdom that only a mouse would do for a rat like our homicidal friend from Louisiana。 Not all that was in Brutal's report； of course； but I had done enough night watches myself to fill in the stuff between the lines。 There was a brief note about Coffey： 〃Laid aay have cried some。 I tried to get some talk started； but after a few grunted replies from Coffey； gave up。 Paul or Harry may have better luck。〃
〃Getting the talk started〃 was at the center of our job； really。 I didn't know it then； but looking back from the vantage point of this strange old age （I think all old ages seem strange to the folk who must endure them）； I understand that it was； and why I didn't see it then … it was too big； as central to our work as our respiration was to our lives。 It wasn't important that the floaters be good at 〃getting the talk started；〃 but it was vital for me and Harry and Brutal and Dean。。。 and it was one reason why Percy Wetmore was such a disaster。 The inmates hated him； the guards hated him 。。。 everyone hated him； presumably； except for his political connections； Percy himself； and maybe （but only maybe） his mother。 He was like a dose of white arsenic sprinkled into a wedding cake； and I think I knew he spelled disaster the start。 He was
