Dr. Steinberg began to drop into the graphic-arts unit from time to time to ask Milligan’s advice about his own painting. Tommy showed him how to handle perspective, how to paint rocks to make them look as if they were underwater. Steinberg came into the prison on his own time weekends and had Milligan taken out of his cell so that the two of them could paint together. Knowing that Milligan hated prison food, the doctor would always bring along submarine sandwiches or bagels with cream cheese and lox.

“I wish I could paint in my cell,” Tommy said to Reinert one weekend.

Reinert shook his head. “Not with two prisoners in a cell. It’s against the rules.”

But that rule didn’t apply for long. Several evenings later, two guards came to shake down Milligan’s cell and found marijuana. “Ain’t mine,” Tommy said, afraid they wouldn’t believe him and that he’d be sent to the “hole,” a bare, isolated punishment cell. But when they questioned his cell mate, the young man broke down and admitted he’d smoked it because he was upset about his wife leaving him. He was sent to isolation, and Milligan had the cell to himself for a while.

Reinert talked to Lieutenant Moreno, the officer in charge of the cell block, suggesting that Milligan be allowed to paint in his cell until they put another prisoner in with him. Moreno agreed. Thus, every day after the graphic-arts room closed down at three-thirty, Milligan would go back to his cell to paint until it was time to sleep. Days went by quickly. It was easier to do time.

Then one day a guard mentioned that a new prisoner would be put in his cell. Allen stopped by Lieutenant Moreno’s office.

“Mr. Moreno, if you put someone else in with me, I won’t be able to paint my pictures.”

“Well, you’ll have to do it elsewhere, then.”

“Can I explain something to you?”

“Come back later in the day and we’ll talk about it.”

After lunch, Allen came back from graphic arts with a painting Tommy had just finished. Moreno stared at it. “You did that?” he asked. The lieutenant held up the painting and looked at the deep-green landscape with the river winding off into the depths. “Hey, I’d sure like to have one of these.” “I’d paint you one,” Allen said. “Only I can’t paint in my cell anymore.”

“Oh … well, let’s wait a minute here. You’d paint a picture for me?”

“Free of charge.”

Moreno called to his assistant: “Casey, take that new man’s name out of the slot for Milligan’s cell. Put a blank slip in there and put X’s on it.” Then he turned to Allen. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got about nine more months, then you go to the board? There won’t be anyone else in your cell.”

Allen was delighted, and Tommy and Danny and he painted every spare minute, making sure not to finish any single painting.

“You’ve got to be careful,” Arthur suggested. “As soon as Moreno gets his painting, he might back down on his word.” Allen stalled Moreno for nearly two weeks, then walked into his office to present a painting of a wharf with boats tied to it. Moreno was overjoyed.