“‘Oh, I am so weak, doctor; but for that, I would be very well. I did not send for you with a view of taking more medicine—no, no, indeed! I don’t think I ever shall need any more as long as I live. I merely wished to speak with you about Miss Bramlett’s case. I presume that my brother has told you of the valuable assistance I have rendered him? Very well; I have something more to say to you on that subject. I fear you will find that Miss Bramlett is a very bad woman. I confess I never had much faith in her at first. She was too proud, too cold-hearted—made too much display with her money. She was parading the streets continually, pretending to be assisting the poor, but evidently trying to create a sensation. One day I met her at the Widow Spratt’s house, and would you believe it, sir, she was dressed within an inch of her life! She had on a blue silk dress, with real lace trimmings—and, by the by, that was the identical dress she wore that night when I saw her go into Ben Bowles’ apartments, through the private entrance that opens from the alley. But I am going too fast.—I was telling you about meeting Miss Bramlett at Widow Spratt’s. Well, sir, she was sitting on a low truckle-bed, feeding the baby with condensed milk. It was the dirtiest, sickliest-looking thing I ever laid eyes on; and the other five children were cramming themselves with cold bread and turkey that Miss Bramlett had given them; and they were covered with dirty rags, just like the baby. Mrs. Spratt is the poorest manager I ever saw. Her children are half naked and starved. I was really vexed at Miss Bramlett for throwing away her money on such worthless people. Old Spratt was always drunk, and wouldn’t work. He fell overboard from a steam-boat and was drowned; it was a great pity he didn’t die ten years ago. His children are lazy, good-for-nothing brats, and ought to starve. Miss Bramlett has been supporting the whole family since old Spratt died. Mrs. Spratt, she lies in bed the live-long day, pretending to be sick, but it is pure laziness; and if Miss Bramlett would let her alone, she would have to get up and work, or starve. Well, there are many other families in this city depending on Miss Bramlett’s money for support. It’s a scandal and a shame that such laziness should be encouraged. Let ‘em work, or starve, is my motto. I asked Mrs. Spratt to subscribe something to our Tramp Reform Association, and she wouldn’t give a cent. I begged Miss Bramlett to help us, and she turned up her nose and absolutely sneered in my face—a hateful hussy! but I ought not to talk so, because I never bear malice against my neighbors; it is my character not to nurse ill-will—“Forgive those who trespass against us,” is my motto—this is what our Saviour taught us. There is Lottie Wallingford, who thinks the world and all of Miss Bramlett. I wonder how she will feel when she sees her friend hung for murder? Her brother was engaged to be married to Miss Bramlett when the murder was committed; but they say he has run away to California and left his affianced bride here to be hung, while he goes to get his uncle’s great fortune. Of course that will make honors easy—he loses his sweetheart, but wins a fortune. That ought to console him, at any rate. They say you are taking on about Lottie Wallingford. Doctor, she would no doubt make you a good wife, if she wasn’t so much like old Rockland—always talking about books and book-learning. She knows too much; I don’t like so much genius. I like business. It is my character to despise poetry. I hate these dreamy, sentimental women who can memorize a whole book and then repeat it in public. I hate these silly women who sing nothing but sentimental songs. They are always talking about sweet flowers, sweet poetry, sweet birds, sweet scenery, sweet music—everything is sweet with them. I hate sweet things; it is my character to hate sweet things. She and Miss Bramlett have converted the jail into a picture gallery, concert hall and book library. For my part, I don’t see how the jailer puts up with such doings. The idea that a murderess in jail, awaiting her trial, should be painting pictures, reading poetry and playing the guitar surpasses my comprehension. She had better be reading her Bible or prayer-book, and making preparations to meet her God, for she is certain to be hung. I know enough myself to hang her, and I mean to tell it. I saw her with my own eyes when she went into the apartments of that gambler, at the dark hour of night. You see I had my suspicions about her, anyway, and when I saw her meet Bowles in the garden that night I concluded that some deviltry was going on, and determined to watch her. I have the advantage you see, doctor, over other women—it is no trouble for me to disguise myself. I am very tall, you perceive, and my brother’s clothes fit me to a T. I made it my business to waylay Mr. Ragland’s premises every night until I succeeded in accomplishing my object. One night about eight o’clock I saw Miss Bramlett go out of the house by the back way and walk cautiously toward the rear side of the garden. I was concealed among the shrubbery, and saw her coming directly toward the spot where I was. She, however, turned to the left, passing within ten paces of me. She appeared to be looking for some one, for she stopped near me and waited for several minutes; then she turned square off to the right and entered the summer-house by the back door. I think she stayed in the summer-house about ten minutes; at any rate, she remained in it until I began to grow restless, and was thinking of trying to slip around to the front door, so as to enable me to see whether or not she was alone. I noticed that she had her face covered with a veil, but I knew her by the dress and shawl she wore—the same she had on the time I met her at the Widow Spratt’s. When she came out of the summer-house, she went in the direction of the carriage-house, which you know is east of the former, and about forty yards from it. She passed on without halting, until she reached the extreme back part of the garden. She paused and looked around in every direction, as if trying to ascertain whether or not any one was watching her. But she did not see me; I was too sharp to be caught that way. I am not one of those sap-heads that you have heard so much about. In fact, I hate sap-headed women—it is my character to hate ’em; and as to sap-headed men, they ought not to be permitted to live. But here I am again straggling off from the subject. I beg you to excuse me, doctor; you know I am quite weak yet—indeed I am. It is astonishing to me that I am able to utter a word. Your medicine cured my complaints, it is true, but left me completely prostrated. I don’t think I ever shall need any more drugs. But I declare, I must quit wandering off that way. I wouldn’t do it, I know, but I am afraid the strong medicine has, to some extent, weakened my mind. Everything seems like a dream. Do you ever dream, doctor? No? Ah, then, you don’t appreciate them. Where one’s dreams are pleasant, one enjoys the sensation very much; but when the stomach’s out of order, one is sure to have unpleasant dreams. Oh! I had such a nice dream last night! I thought that I was—but what do you care about my dreams? I suppose you want me to finish my narrative about Miss Bramlett’s movements.’
“‘Miss Tadpoddle,’ said I, ‘you must, by all means, take another dose of medicine; the color of your skin is not as good as it should be, and I don’t like the looks of your tongue.’
“If I could have induced her to take another dose of my drugs then, she would have remembered it to her dying day.
“‘No, no, doctor, please hush talking about your hateful drugs and let me go on with my story. It makes one feel so nervous to have to wait and wait for anything which ought to be told without stopping. There is Miss Clattermouth—oh, it would do you good to hear her relate a story. She can talk all day and never make a hobble. You ought to hear her deliver one of her lectures on the rights of women. She is our champion on that question, and you must not fail to hear her lecture next time. She is the business manager of our Tramp Reform Association, and is one of our best financial agents. You ought to join our Tramp Reform Association, doctor. We have achieved wonders in that society. We have reformed as many as a dozen tramps during the last year.’
“‘In what way did you reform them, Miss Tadpoddle?’ I inquired.
“‘Oh, we furnish them board and lodgings for a month, by way of trial, and give them a good suit of clothes. Miss Clattermouth lectures them twice a week, and I give them Bible lessons three times a week. If, at the end of a month, one shows evidences of repentance and reformation, we then furnish him with another suit of clothes, a Testament, five dollars in cash and a certificate of good behavior, and discharge him with our blessing.’
“‘If he doesn’t furnish the necessary evidence at the end of the first month, what course do you pursue then?’
“‘We keep him another month, and if he proves incorrigible, we dismiss him without our certificate or blessing.’
“‘The punishment, I must say, Miss Tadpoddle, is indeed very severe. What is to be the fate of the poor tramp who is thus turned loose on the cold charities of the world with no certificate and without your blessing? May I inquire what percentage prove incorrigible and are driven out without the certificate and blessing?’
“‘I should say about ninety per cent. It is a source of regret to know that so many prove unworthy, yet it is a consolation to us to save as much as ten per cent. of the unfortunate class.’