Not one word did I hear about the Goverment that wuz in partnership with that man.
Wall, the little coffin wuz closed at last, the mother wuz carried faintin', and lookin' like a dead woman, back to her empty, darkened home. The father, with a face like white marble, curbin' down his own agonized grief so's to take care of her, and try to bring her back to the world agin, so they could together face its blackness and emptiness.
And the crowd dispersed, lookin' forward to the excitement of the hangin'.
And the saloon-keeper went home and mebby counted over the few cents that accrued to him out of the hull enterprise.
And the wise male voters returned, a-calculatin' (mebby) on votin' for license so's to improve the condition of their towns.
And Uncle Sam, poor, childish old creeter, mebby wrote down aginst this hull job—"three cents revenue." And mebby he rattled them cents round in his old pockets. I don't know what he did; I hain't no idee what he won't take it into his old head to do.
And the prisoner sot in his dark, cold cell, and didn't appreciate, mebby, the wisdom of the wise law-makers increasin' our revenues by such means.
No; he had all he could do to set and look at the bare stun walls, and figger out this sum—on one side the three cents profit; and substract from it—a bright young life ended, lifelong agony to the hearts that loved her.
His own old mother's and sister's heads and hearts bowed down in shame and sorrow.
His own hopeful life cut short at the edge of the scaffold, and for the future—what?