seless to prolong the agony.

"I have nothing to say to you," remarked the judge, "in addition
to what the district attorney has said. He has fully expressed my
own sentiments in this case. I regard you as vampires, sucking
the blood of the weak, helpless, and criminal. Mercy would be out
of place if extended toward you. I sentence you both to the full
limit which the law allows--ten years in State's prison at hard
labor."

An officer clapped us upon the back, faced us round toward the rear
of the court-room, and pushed us toward the door leading to the
prison pen, while another slipped a handcuff on my right wrist and
snapped its mate on Gottlieb's left.

"Get on there," he growled, "where you belong!"

The crowds strained to get a look at us as, with averted faces, we
trudged toward the door leading to the prison pen. Our lawyers
had already hastened away to avoid any reflected ignominy that
might attach to them. The jurymen were shaking hands with the
district attorney.

"Adjourn court!" I heard the judge remark.

With a whoop, the spectators in the court-room crowded upon our
heels and surged up to the grating before the door.

"There's Gottlieb!" cried one. "The little fellow!"

"And that's Quibble--the pale chap with the thin face!" said
another.

"Damn you! Get out of the way!" I shouted threateningly.

"There go the shysters!" retorted the crowd. "Sing Sing's the best
place for them!"

The keeper opened the door and motioned back the spectators. I
staggered through, shackled to my partner and dragging him along
with me. As the door clanged to I heard some one say:

"There goes the last of the firm of Gottlieb & Quibble!"

End of Project Gutenberg's The Confessions of Artemas Quibble, by Arthur Train

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