“gertie, i will not allow you to compare yourself and your sister with what could happen. i am like daughter amelia. i am not going to forgive him—no, not i. i shall return to my home and feel very uncomfortable in it, after knowing how it was obtained. come, my daughters.”

“i shall return, papa,” said gertie, “and see you. i shall always love you, for you have been a good father to me. you gave me my education and provided instruction in music. no one can take that away from me. i shall always remember you and love you and i shall do all that i can for you in times to come. good-bye, dear papa. do not weep. mother and sister can never turn my love from you. if i ever can redeem your good name for you, i shall be repaid for all, and i hope and pray that i shall be able to do so.”

“gertie, you have said enough to your convict father. come at once. we must leave this[171] horrid place, never to return. come, come, daughters.”

addressing her husband, the wife said: “you got in this trouble without your family’s assistance, and you can get out the same way.”

“oh, mother! do not talk so cruelly to papa. i know his heart is broken. i am sure that he believed himself right when he made the statement that his brother was dead. he did not dream that his brother was alive, or that he would ever hear of him again.”

“gertie, go along with your mother. i will suffer alone.”

“i will share it with you, papa. good-bye.”

“mr. pearson, i shall place you in the second room here, and i shall call in the officials for consultation and see what can be done. i regret very much to have to do so, but it is my duty.”

“i am a prisoner here, and shall obey your rules. i will step inside. you may take me in. i shall not cause you any unnecessary trouble.”

“well, i have got a job, to turn the key on the gentleman. i’ll just step in. i feel i have saved meself a good many steps by finding meself a resting-place so near.” it was pat, talking to himself.

“i was just turning to call for you, pat.”

[172]

“well, i am here.”

“you may see that water is in the room for pearson, then lock the door.”

“i will do that, your honor, with pleasure. where is the man to occupy the room?”

“he has stepped in there, pat.”

“very obliging, he is. i think that bating did him some good.

“here is some water for you, sir, and if you want annything, call me. or have i given you all you wanted me to—faith, i mane in the way of a bating?

“the poor fellow sits there with his head down as though i had never said a word to him, so i’ll lock him in and let him slape it off.”

“pat, i am going to call in the high officials to-day, and i want you to be present; i am going to call on you for some of your knowledge.”

“how in the devil do you know where my knowledge-place is? you may have it all and i will find me another resting-place.”

“pat, you do not understand me. i meant that you must tell what you know about this pearson and his brother. explain what you mean by giving me all the place of knowledge.”

“well, your honor, you see i have been wanted here and there so manny times i found[173] meself a resting-place outside of this office, so i could be here when you wanted me—and when you didn’t want me.”

“do you call that a ‘knowledge-place’? i should call it a ‘resting-place.’”

“i rested while i was getting my knowledge.”

“you were reading, were you?”

“devil a bit did i read.”

“how, then, did you get your knowledge?”

“well, if you have things that you try to keep from hearing—and indade i tried to keep from hearing the poor family crying, i was dropping a few tears meself—then—”

“you heard the conversation, did you?”

“i don’t know if that is what you call it, but i don’t care to hear anny more of it; the last toime i felt the way i did was when the only friend i ever had died, and that was me dog. i never had a poor father or mother—if i did, they never told me about it; but one kind lady told the good woman that raised me i was too small to know me father and mother, so i don’t know anny, and if i had anny—god bless ’em!—their son never had to swear all the children was dead to get what the old folks left.”

“pat, you have heard all about this, have you?”

[174]

“i don’t know what ‘this’ is. you mane have i heard something about this poor man’s troubles?”

“here are the officials, now. you may go. i shall send for you.”

“i am glad i can go. i am not going to meet the high officials. they might be so high i couldn’t make meself heard. i’ll just sit meself down.”

“good morning, gentlemen.”

“good morning.” “good morning.”

“why have we been called?”

“mr. mchenry, there has been trouble here in regard to one of the prisoners who is a very poor man. strange things have happened since he has been in the prison, and the strangest part of all is that he is a brother of officer pearson.”

“a brother of officer pearson?”

“the man was convicted of murder on circumstantial evidence.”

“of murder—a brother of officer pearson!”

“yes. i’ll explain further. i have a telegram here, stating that the real murderer has confessed.”

“well, i am glad. i hope that his brother[175] is not a murderer. i have a high regard for officer pearson.”

“gentlemen, the worst is yet to come. mr. pearson is himself under lock and key.”

“i dare say you are telling the truth.”

“i am, sir. he was heard trying to bribe his brother to swear falsely—to deny his own name.”

“pray, what was that for?”

“i regret to say that he has swindled his brother out of his part of the estate by swearing the brother was dead. by doing this, mr. pearson fell heir to the entire estate, which was large, and he lost it all, except the home which his family now occupies.”

“the poor man! what was the amount?”

“in the hundreds of thousands.”

“well, well! how sorry i am to hear that about mr. pearson!”

“you have not heard all yet about mr. pearson. i am going to explain it all. he threatened to kill his brother if he did not swear that he had been registered under an assumed name. in that way pearson hoped not to be recognized as the convict’s brother.”

“you are relating something that can be verified, are you?”

[176]

“i am.”

“where did you get your information?”

“i have a very trustworthy guard that overheard some things.”

“you are not believing all these things from hearsay, are you?”

“i have heard enough myself to be convinced that mr. pearson is guilty.”

“call mr. pearson in.”

“well, here is where i bring in the fellow with the black eye. i’ll just step to the door, by accident,” said pat, outside.

“pat, step in and show mr. pearson in.”

“i will, your honor.”

“oh! you have him in there, have you, locked up?”

“i believe i mentioned the fact that i had him under lock and key.”

“my god, man, what have you done to this poor man?”

“mr. pearson, i am sorry to see this.”

pat muttered in a low voice: “you would be doing a good turn if you would go to the poor wife and give some sympathy to those beautiful daughters. they have never stole annything and threatened to kill afterwards if the one they robbed hollered about it. i have[177] given him a good bating, and i think it did him good, but i never want the ladies to come here again and do anny more crying. i had to drop a tear meself.”

“officer, what does this mean? did you allow that irishman to beat this poor man like this before his family?”

“no, sir; his family were not here.”

“he spoke of their tears.”

“they were here afterward, and—”

“go on and tell what happened. i am astonished.”

“i have explained what he did. i do not see why, as he has violated the law, he should not be locked up as any other prisoner is.”

“a man is not guilty until proved so.”

“and i order this man to be turned loose. you have no authority to claim him as a prisoner. he has never been arrested, no warrant for him has been issued, and i do not believe him guilty.”

“i am in a position to prove his guilt.”

“i do not believe you, sir.”

“i shall ask pearson to speak for himself.”

“you—mr. pearson i am speaking to—please tell the officials here what you told your wife and daughters.”

[178]

“i am willing to plead guilty.”

“oh, my god! and my son to marry a daughter of this man! i can not allow him to do so. take pearson away—take him away and do what you please with him. i have heard enough from his own lips—‘i plead guilty.’”

“come, mchenry, i have had nothing to say, and now i do not want to say anything. i have heard enough.”

“this is awful. my son to marry this man’s daughter! the engagement was announced last night. the marriage shall never take place.”

“come along, mr. mchenry. we can talk that over after we leave here.”

“good morning, sir.”

“good morning, gentlemen.”

“well, pat, you may place the prisoner in cell 77.”

“come along. you are a fine bird, you are. you are not satisfied with ruining your own reputation, but you had to bring sorrow to your daughter. your children must suffer along with yourself. i pity the poor young man that is engaged to marry the girl. i have been there meself. i was engaged to a beautiful girl, and when the father found out some things he would never listen to me marrying her, and it was not[179] because i stole all the money i could lay me hands on; it was because i was a irishman.

“well, you have got a nice place here. ’tis a pity you had not been here all the time, then you would have had all your money yet.

“i’ll drop around male times, and see if you have the same as the other gentlemen get here.”

“i am not fully decided what to do,” said the superintendent. “i must write at once and acknowledge the receipt of this telegram, and i must see that the proper authorities get the confession of this man pearson, and place him where he should be. and if clarence is proved innocent, he ought to be freed at once.

“i hear a faint knock. i hope that it is not pearson’s wife. i must open the door. they know that i am here at this hour of the day.

“good morning, miss gertie.”

“i have brought papa something to eat. i had such a hard time to get this for him. mother and sister went shopping, and while they were gone i did some baking and brought it to papa. may i see him?”

“i will see that your father gets it, miss gertie. if you are in a hurry to return before your mother and sister get home, you had better go at once.”

[180]

“oh, no! i want to see papa. i want to tell him something. is he not in this room where he was before?”

“well, no—i—had—to use that room, and i gave him another room. i think that he is asleep now. he had a very restless night. i feel that he should not be disturbed.”

“officer, i must see him. i want to tell him something. i have a secret to tell him—not exactly a secret, but it is to papa, perhaps.”

“i am sorry, but i shall have to deliver the message for you. i am worthy of your confidence. i do feel very sorry for you and your father. pray trust me with the secret. i’ll deliver it as it is given to me.”

“officer, i am heart-broken. i do want to see papa.”

“i think i have him where i can put me hand on him, and i hope i’ll never have to put me club on him again, for i feel sorry every toime i hear the daughter cry. poor girl! i hope she won’t come here again. if she does, i hope she will lave the tears at home, for every toime i hear her cry i think of me poor dog,” said pat, outside. “i’ll be going along by the office and see if i’m wanted.”

[181]

“here comes pat. i’ll have him bring your father in, if he is not asleep.

“pat, save yourself the bother of coming in, and go and see if mr. pearson is awake. if so, tell him i want to see him.”

“mr. guard—pat, please bring papa. if he is asleep, waken him and tell him that i am here.”

“i was in hopes the poor girl would not come again, but here she is, and bring him in i will. it’s the furst toime in me life annyone called me by the handle to me name. it’s always ‘pat,’ but she called me ‘mr. pat.’ i’d do annything for the girl. i’d even treat the father nice. poor man, maybe, after all, he really thought his brother was dead.

“mr. pearson, your honor, will you please come along with me, and oblige me? your beautiful daughter is in the office and wants to tell you something.”

“pat, i do not care to see her. i know how the poor girl will feel to leave me, and if she does not see me, it will not be so hard on her nor on me.”

“i wish you would come. she is waiting for you, and indade, i’d be disobeying orders[182] to go back without you, and i don’t want to take you, as i have done.”

“i will go, then. pat, you talk like a good sort of a fellow, after all, and i’ll go peacefully with you.”

“thank you, sir. this is a wise man.”

“miss gertie, we have visiting rules. i will give you this card, and you can see the days we have for company.”

“oh, mr. officer! could i not come any time? you know i have to watch for my chance to get away. i could not see papa often enough.”

“now, you may step in and talk with your daughter. i have some very important business to take care of.”

“pat, come around soon again. i may need you to take some mail to the train, as i am anxious to have the letters go at once.”

“well, i may as well sit meself down and get some more knowledge. i hope i will not hear anny crying. poor girl, how she did rush to her papa and kiss him! if i had a daughter to kiss me, i would fall dead,” mused pat.

“oh, papa, i am so glad i could come and bring you something to eat! mother and sister were out shopping and i found the opportunity to bring this to you. and i so wanted[183] to bring you some news. papa, you know amelia is going to marry clyde mchenry? oh, papa, you are so pale! are you ill?”

“daughter, i fear the marriage will never take place.”

“why, papa? the engagement was announced last night, and the date set six weeks from then. would you object, papa?”

“no, daughter; i would not interfere with the marriage, but—but—”

“well, papa, what do you want to say?”

“it will all be known soon enough, and the dear girl will suffer, i know.”

“oh, dear papa, don’t cry so hard! i am trying to be brave for you, and i want you to for me—and amelia will be happy.”

“well, if the man isn’t crying! it’s not enough to hear the ladies, and when the men begin i’ll have to move on, i think. i have enough knowledge for to last the rest of me life,” muttered pat.

“pat, you may take this letter to the train. pat, you are wanted. i wonder if he has forgot his orders.”

“oh, the devil take you! i’m coming, as soon as i get these tears all out of me eyes,” mumbled[184] pat. then aloud: “yes, i’m coming. what can i do for you?”

“mail this letter on the morning train. do not delay getting it off.

“miss gertie, i shall have to ask you if you have visited long enough with your father?” said the superintendent.