and
unexercised in prison. And presently his reminiscence settled upon one
prison acquaintance: a man past middle age, clever in his generation,
who had already done some fifteen years of a long sentence. He was, said
Larry, grim and he rarely spoke; but a close, wordless friendship had
developed between them. Only once, in an unusually relaxed mood, had
the old convict spoken of himself, but what he had then said had had a
greater part in rousing Larry to his new decision than the words of any
other man.

"It was a queer story Joe let out," continued Larry. "Before he was
sent away he had a kid, just a baby whose mother was dead. He told me
he wanted to have his kid brought up without ever knowing anything about
the kind of people he knew and the kind of life he'd lived. He wanted it
to grow up among decent people. He had money put away and he had an
old friend, a pal, that he'd trust with anything. So he turned over his
money and his baby to his friend, and gave orders that the kid was to
be brought up decent, sent to school, and that the kid was never to
know anything about Joe. Of course the baby was too young then ever to
remember him; and when he gets out he's going to keep absolutely clear
of the kid's life--he wants his kid to have the best possible chance."

"What is his whole name, and what was he sent up for?" queried the
Duchess, that flickering fire of interest once more in her old eyes.

"Joe Ellison. He was an old-time confidence man. He got caught in
a jam--there had been drinking--there was some shooting--and he had
attempted manslaughter tacked on to the charge of swindling. But Joe
said everybody had been drinking and that the shooting was accidental."

"Joe Ellison--I knew him," said the Duchess. "He was about the cleverest
man of his day. But I never knew he had a child. Who was this best
friend of his?"

"Joe Ellison didn't mention his name," answered Larry. "You see Joe
spoke of his story only once. But he then said that he'd had letters
once a month telling how fine the kid was getting on--till three or
four years ago when he got word that his friend had died. The way things
stand now, Joe won't know how to find the kid when he gets out even if
he should want to find it--and he wouldn't know it even if he saw it.
Up in Sing Sing when I had nothing else to do," concluded Larry, "I
tell you I thought a lot about that situation--for it certainly is some
situation: Joe Ellison for fifteen years