n which was always
of value. There was a dauntless quality about the man, a rugged
double-fisted force which made him feared by his opponents.

Frank Stanley looked in at the second Ruef trial. He found it a
kaleidoscope of dramatic and tragic events. Heney, who had been the
target for a volley of insinuations from Ruef's attorneys, was nervous
and distraught. Several times he had been goaded into altercation; had
struck back with a bitterness that showed his mounting anger. Stanley
noted that he was "on edge," and rather looked for "fireworks," as the
reporters called these verbal duels of the Prosecution trials. But he
was astonished to see Heney turn upon an unoffending juryman in sudden
fury. The man had a fat, good-natured Teuton face with small eyes and a
heavy manner. His name was Morris Haas. He had asked to be excused but
the judge had not granted his plea.

Now he seemed to cower in exaggerated fright before the Prosecutor's
pointed finger. A little hush ensued. A tense dramatic pause. Then Heney
branded Haas before the court-room as a former convict.

The man broke down utterly. Many years before he had served a short term
in prison. After his release he had married, raised a family, "lived a
respectable life," as he pleaded in hysterical extenuation. He kept a
grocery store.

Haas stumbled from the court-room and Frank followed him. He could not
help but feel a certain pity for the poor wretch, wailing brokenly that
he was "ruined." He could never face his friends again. His customers
would leave him. Frank learned the details of his ancient crime; he also
ascertained that Haas had lived rightly since. The incident rankled. He
wrote a guarded story of the affair. But he did not mention one episode
of Haas' exposure. As the man staggered out Frank had heard another
whisper sympathetically, "I would kill the man who did that to me."

Justice often has its cruel, relentless aspects. Haas, with his weak,
heavy face, stayed in Stanley's memory. An ordinary man might have tried
again and won. But Haas was drunken with self-pity and the melancholy of
his race. He would brood and suffer. Frank felt sorry for the man, and,
somehow, vaguely apprehensive.

Ruef's trial ended in a disagreement of the jury. It was a serious blow.
Most of the San Francisco papers heaped abuse upon the Prosecution, its
attorneys and its judges.

Matters dragged along until the 13th of November. Gallagher was on the
witness stand. H