The attendant
hastily changed to a coaxing "You can come back and try to-morrow.
Probably the poor guy is off his nut."

Babbitt drove, not at all carefully or fussily, sliding viciously past
trucks, ignoring the truckmen's curses, to the City Hall; he stopped
with a grind of wheels against the curb, and ran up the marble steps to
the office of the Hon. Mr. Lucas Prout, the mayor. He bribed the mayor's
doorman with a dollar; he was instantly inside, demanding, "You remember
me, Mr. Prout? Babbitt--vice-president of the Boosters--campaigned for
you? Say, have you heard about poor Riesling? Well, I want an order on
the warden or whatever you call um of the City Prison to take me back
and see him. Good. Thanks."

In fifteen minutes he was pounding down the prison corridor to a cage
where Paul Riesling sat on a cot, twisted like an old beggar, legs
crossed, arms in a knot, biting at his clenched fist.

Paul looked up blankly as the keeper unlocked the cell, admitted
Babbitt, and left them together. He spoke slowly: "Go on! Be moral!"

Babbitt plumped on the couch beside him. "I'm not going to be moral!
I don't care what happened! I just want to do anything I can. I'm glad
Zilla got what was coming to her."

Paul said argumentatively, "Now, don't go jumping on Zilla. I've been
thinking; maybe she hasn't had any too easy a time. Just after I shot
her--I didn't hardly mean to, but she got to deviling me so I went
crazy, just for a second, and pulled out that old revolver you and I
used to shoot rabbits with, and took a crack at her. Didn't hardly mean
to--After that, when I was trying to stop the blood--It was terrible
what it did to her shoulder, and she had beautiful skin--Maybe she won't
die. I hope it won't leave her skin all scarred. But just afterward,
when I was hunting through the bathroom for some cotton to stop the
blood, I ran onto a little fuzzy yellow duck we hung on the tree one
Christmas, and I remembered she and I'd been awfully happy then--Hell. I
can't hardly believe it's me here." As Babbitt's arm tightened about
his shoulder, Paul sighed, "I'm glad you came. But I thought maybe you'd
lecture me, and when you've committed a murder, and been brought here
and everything--there was a big crowd outside the apartment house, all
staring, and the cops took me through it--Oh, I'm not going to talk
about it any more."

But he went on, in a monotonous, terrified insane mumble. To divert him
Babbitt said, "Why,