The bailiff's bent figure tottered out of the court-room. The court-room was very still; the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. The judge swung his chair about and glanced out of the windows. Never once did he permit his eyes to rest on the prisoners.
There was silence and waiting, and after a while the bailiff came with the docket. The judge opened the book, put on a pair of gold glasses, and, after a time, reading slowly, said:
"The State versus Patrick Delaney."
The white-haired prisoner patiently held out two hands, marvelously tatooed, and Danner unlocked the handcuffs. At the same moment one of the young lawyers stood forth from the rest, and Lamborn, an assistant prosecutor, rose.
McWhorter was studying the docket. Presently he said:
"Stand up, Delaney."
Delaney rose, kept his eyes on the floor, clasped a hand about his red wrist. Then, for the first time, the judge looked at him.
"Delaney," he said, "have you anything to say why the sentence of this court should not be passed upon you?"
Delaney looked uneasily at the judge and then let his eyes fall.
"No, Judge, yer Honor," he said, "nothing but that I'm an innocent man. I didn't do it, yer Honor."