A week or so after Mr。 Jingles had settled into the cigar box； Delacroix called me and Brutal down to his cell to see something。 He did that so much it was annoying … if Mr。 Jingles so much as rolled over on his back with his paws in the air； it was the cutest thing on God's earth； as far as that half…pint Cajun was concerned … but this time what he was up to really was sort of amusing。
Delacroix had been pretty much forgotten by the world following his conviction； but he had one relation … an old maiden aunt； I believe … who wrote him once a week。 She had also sent him an enormous bag of peppermint candies； the sort which are marketed under the name Canada Mints these days。 They looked like big pink pills。 Delacroix was not allowed to have the whole bag at once； naturally … it was a five…pounder； and he would have gobbled them until he had to go to the infirmary with stomach…gripes。 Like almost every murderer we ever had on the Mile； he had absolutely no understanding of moderation。 We'd give them out to him half a dozen at a time； and only then if he remembered to ask。
Mr。 Jingles was sitting beside Delacroix on the bunk when we got down there； holding one of those pink candies in his paws and munching contentedly away at it。 Delacroix was simply overe with delight … he was like a classical pianist watching his five…year…old son play his first halting exercises。 But don't get me wrong； it was funny； a real hoot。 The candy was half the size of Mr。 Jingles；