“I think Pat has left the place. After all his false reports, he will, or perhaps has, felt that he will be discharged, and will go before notice is given.”

“Here he comes. Well, Pat, what do you mean? Is that the way you do when trusted with the care of this office? Did I not say to you that I had all confidence in you? And now you have given me cause to doubt you in all things.”

“Your honor, would you have confidence in me at all if I would sit here and let the prisoners all walk out? Just about two minutes ago a lady came to the office and asked to come in. After I opened the door, she just walked right through the office and out of the door. I called to her to halt, and she did not stop, and I made a start for her, and in all my life I never saw a female get the space between her and me as she did.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you have let some of the prisoners get away?”

[105]

“I mane to tell you that the lady that came through that door got away—prisoner, or whatever you may call her.”

“Pat, I am not going to discharge you now, for I shall have to see what convict it was and what was her sentence here. Then I shall be better able to deal with you. I am sorry, Pat, that you have proved to be such an untrustworthy guard, and I, as well as Mr. Pearson, here, have found you to be misrepresenting things all along and causing any amount of trouble. Now you may go and do what the last orders gave you to do, and I will take care of my man. If you find any more strange things around here, don’t come to me. I shall not go to investigate another call from you. Now go.”

“Your honor, I would like to spake a word in my own behalf. I am not as you have expressed yourself that I was, untrustworthy. I will swear to my Father in Heaven that I have been honest, honest in all my actions, and when I called for help, you were informed right. I gave the correct reports, and I want to say now that if you have that kind of opinion of me, I will lave the prisoners and you may look for another Pat. I am not a thafe. If so, I would[106] be wearing the stripes instead of the blue, and I feel I have been misjudged. I hope that you will find out that Pat was just what you thought, true and trustworthy, and I will say to you that you had better keep an eye on your fellow-officer, Mr. Pearson. I feel that he has caused you to form the opinion you have.”

“Pat, go and do your duty, and all will work out right by and by.”

“I will, your honor; but whenever you want the club I carry, the same is yours for the asking. I am ready to quit when I am not the gentleman I should be.”

“Pearson, have you ever had any trouble with Pat?”

“I have not.”

“I believe that you and he have not the best of feeling for each other. Can you explain the condition?”

“I have no grievance against Pat. I do not understand why he should bring in such alarming reports, reports which on investigation prove to be untrue, absolutely untrue, with no base or foundation whatever, and that is why I am not particularly fond of Pat.”

“It is all a very strange affair. During my absence did you have a conversation with Convict[107] 78? And what was the object of that conversation? What was your reason for dismissing Pat, after he had brought the convict in?”

“I do not remember doing so.”

“I have been informed that you did. There should be no secrets among the officials and the prisoners.”

“I am going to explain. I am the mother of these two boys, and the Prisoner 78 and my son Pearson, here, are brothers. Pearson knows that his brother is an innocent man, but is ashamed to acknowledge his brother. But the prisoner is as innocent as you, who are trying to punish him for a crime he never committed.”

“Do you hear that voice, Pearson?”

“I do, but from whom does it come? There is no one here that I can see.”

“You will see me,” the voice was heard to say.

“‘I will see you.’ Did I hear that? Did you get that, officer?”

“I did, and I heard more; I heard the same voice say that you and this man, Convict 78, were brothers. Did you hear that?”

“I did.”

“Well—”

“I am not sure of it. I only know that he carries my name, and his Christian name is the[108] same as that of a brother of mine whom I have not heard from in years. He ran away from home when a small boy, and we never heard from him afterward. We thought he was dead, as he never returned or wrote. Poor mother grieved herself to her grave for that lost, wayward son. I remained home with her until she died.”

“And the estate—did you advertise for him?”

“My father died when I was a small boy and left mother in good circumstances. I and this brother who left home were the only heirs.”

“And you got the bulk of the estate? Did I understand you to say that you advertised for your brother?”

“Well, you see, it was this way: not hearing from him for so many years, I decided that he was dead, and I did not think it worth while.”

“You are not sure that this is not your brother, then, Mr. Pearson?”

“No, I am not sure.”

“Well, I will send for him and we perhaps may be able to find out by questioning him. Ring for Pat.”

Just then Pat, mumbling, “I will stroll around and see if the supperior officer has[109] changed his mind about me being a gentleman,” appeared.

“Here is Pat, now.”

“Pat, bring in No. 78, at once.”

“Whenever the man says ‘Pat,’ I know that 78 is wanted. Well, if that don’t bate annything! I wonder now what he has done? I know that he has been good the last half-hour, for I have been watching him with my own very eyes, and devil take the one that has lied on him, now. Look at the poor fellow! He has the same feeling that I have. Every time he sees me coming he knows that he is wanted.

“Well, you are wanted at the office, and come along quick, and have it over with. I feel very queer—I feel like I have ate a fly for my breakfast. Only a different feeling comes on a fellow so quick when something is going to happen, and you don’t know what it is.

“Your honor, do you want him now? If so, here he is.”

“If I did not want him, Pat, I should not have sent for him. You may be seated over there.”

“You see, the convict is sometimes treated with poor courtesy. Then I—I have not been[110] asked to have a chair,” Pat was mumbling to himself.

The officer turned to the prisoner:

“You are enrolled here in the name by which you were christened, are you not?”

“I am, sir.”

“Clarence Pearson, is that your real name?”

“It is, sir.”

“Do you remember anything about your people?”

“I do, sir.”

“Tell me all you know about your family, and the number of children, brothers and sisters, and if your parents are living, and where you were born.”

“I was a small boy when I left home, many years ago. My father I don’t remember much about. My poor dear mother has often told me that I was quite young at the time of his death. I have no sisters. I have one brother, who was at home when I left. I have since heard that my dear mother has died. After I heard that, I never had the heart nor courage to go home again.”

“Was your mother in comfortable circumstances?”

[111]

“Oh, yes, sir! My mother was a wealthy woman.”

“And you will swear that that is your name?”

“I will, sir.”

“Pat, you may take him back.”

“You will not close the iron doors behind my child again! He is far more a free man, or should be, than the one sitting there in silence.”

“Well, Pat, why don’t you take him? He is ready.”

“So am I, but when you tell me to do a thing, and then tell me not to, how in the name of common sense do I know what to do?”

“I have given you only one instruction, and that was to go.”

“Well, then, who the devil told me not to take him?”

“Did yo............