“You see, the convict is sometimes treated with poor courtesy. Then I—I have not been asked to have a chair,” Pat was mumbling to himself.
The officer turned to the prisoner:
“You are enrolled here in the name by which you were christened, are you not?”
“I am, sir.”
“Clarence Pearson, is that your real name?”
“It is, sir.”
“Do you remember anything about your people?”
“I do, sir.”
“Tell me all you know about your family, and the number of children, brothers and sisters, and if your parents are living, and where you were born.”
“I was a small boy when I left home, many years ago. My father I don’t remember much about. My poor dear mother has often told me that I was quite young at the time of his death. I have no sisters. I have one brother, who was at home when I left. I have since heard that my dear mother has died. After I heard that, I never had the heart nor courage to go home again.”