“And your father’s name?” asked the clerk, thinking Brent had overlooked this detail.
“Never had none.”
The judge looked up, glanced in sympathy at the prisoner, then looked down again.
The famous Von Betz, who had caused Brent’s arrest and trial, sneered.
Some women present, attracted by the high social and professional standing of the great Von Betz, looked shocked.
Possibly they were shocked.
Exhibit A moved closer and gave the hand of his master two or three encouraging licks and wagged his tail joyfully in recognition of the prisoner’s friendly smile.
“The jury,” said the judge, “has found you guilty of assault, with intent to kill, on the person of Dr. Enrich Von Betz. You have had a fair trial. The evidence seems to justify the verdict. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed?”
“I would like to say something, judge, ’cause I got a hunch you’ll understand. I got a feelin’ you’d done the same thing I did. I never had a father, and the world seems to blame me. But it wasn’t my fault, and I’ve never blamed my mother, neither. She was a good girl. I’ve had a pretty tough time—nobody but my mother, the dog, and God has given me a square deal. Sometimes God forgot, I guess.”
The judge leaned forward, interested. The dog licked the prisoner’s hand and wagged his tail. Thus encouraged, Brent continued: