More mother’s tears, and the fourth prisoner discharged! The judge began to fear permanent softening of the heart and therefore took grim satisfaction when the name Timothy McMenamin, alias “One Eyed Johnny,” was called and there shambled into the dock a chronic old jail-bird whose appearance left no remote possibility of the further painful exercise of discretionary powers.
Silence reigned while his Honour scanned the card. From highway robbery and safe cracking the record of Timothy ran the entire gamut of inspiring action, and by some subtle mental telepathy the crowd knew that he had indeed been a man of parts. But now Timothy was in the sere and yellow and had fallen on evil days. The Judge read aloud from the present indictment, to which Timothy had sullenly pleaded “Guilty.”
“Soliciting alms upon the public thoroughfare and vagrancy.”
Then fraught with deep agrieve, his “Why—Timothy!” caught the levity of the crowded courtroom.
The Judge pursed pondering lips. Then a playful thought was his.
“Are you represented by counsel, Timothy?”
Timothy was not.
“Mr. Wallace!”
If a room may be said to gasp, that courtroom gasped.
William R. K. Wallace!