"As yer so civil and pleasant spoken, I don't mind answerin' yer questions. Arter the poleese had tied me, and left me in the dark upon the bed, 'it looks black,' said I to myself, 'but don't give it up so easy!' and a side door was opened, an' a hand cut my cords, and a voice said 'get up and travel,—the way is clear,' and a bundle was put into my hand, containin' these clothes, and this head o' hair.—I rigged myself out in the dark, pitched my old clothes under the bed, an' then went down the back stairway. I certainly did travel—"
"And then?—"
"And then," responded the individual, "I went and got shaved."
"How came you here?"
"Thinking, I was safer in a crowd, than anywhere else, I put for down town, and I mixed in with the folks in front of Israel Yorke's banking-house, and as they were hollering, why I hollered too. They wanted to pitch into him,—so did I. Lord! didn't they holler! And a gen'elman, seein' I was so airnest, told me about a private party, who were about to foller up Isr'el, to this house. One o' their gang, he said, was sick,—he axed me to jine 'em,—and swore me in as one of your perleese,—and I jined 'em."
"What is your name?" cried the judge, sternly.
"In the place where I was last, they called me Ninety-One," answered the old convict, arranging the high collar about his face,—"Years ago, when I was an honest man, afore a man in a cloak, on a dark night, left a baby with me and my wife, I was called,——"
He paused, and passed his brawny hand over his eyes. The judge started up from his seat.—
"Yes, yes, you were called,—" he exclaimed.
"John Hoffman," replied the convict.