nd goes his way. Another, and another; now a ragged
boy, now a half-sobered crone, now a battered ruffian, and now a painted
girl of the street, and at length one who starts when his name is
called, as though something had exploded.

"John Richling!"

He came.

"Stand there!"

Some one is in the witness-stand, speaking. The prisoner partly hears,
but does not see. He stands and holds the rail, with his eyes fixed
vacantly on the clerk, who bends over his desk under the seat of
justice, writing. The lawyers notice him. His dress has been laboriously
genteel, but is torn and soiled. A detective, with small eyes set close
together, and a nose like a yacht's rudder, whisperingly calls the
notice of one of these spectators who can see the prisoner's face to the
fact that, for all its thinness and bruises, it is not a bad one. All
can see that the man's hair is fine and waving where it is not matted
with blood.

The testifying officer had moved as if to leave the witness-stand, when
the recorder restrained him by a gesture, and, leaning forward and
looking down upon the prisoner, asked:--

"Have you anything to say to this?"

The prisoner lifted his eyes, bowed affirmatively, and spoke in a low,
timid tone. "May I say a few words to you privately?"

"No."

He dropped his eyes, fumbled with the rail, and, looking up suddenly,
said in a stronger voice, "I want somebody to go to my wife--in Prieur
street. She is starving. This is the third day"--

"We're not talking about that," said the recorder. "Have you anything to
say against this witness's statement?"

The prisoner looked upon the floor and slowly shook his head. "I never
meant to break the law. I never expected to stand here. It's like an
awful dream. Yesterday, at this time, I had no more idea of this--I
didn't think I was so near it. It's like getting caught in machinery."
He looked up at the recorder again. "I'm so confused"--he frowned and
drew his hand slowly across his brow--"I can hardly--put my words
together. I was hunting for work. There is no man in this city who
wants to earn an honest living more than I do."

"What's your trade?"

"I have none."

"I supposed not. But you profess to have some occupation, I dare say.
What's your occupation?"

"Accountant."

"Hum! you're all accountants. How long have you been out of employment?"

"Six months."

"Why did you go to sleep under those steps?"

"I didn't intend to go to sleep. I was waitin