not a popular leader, for he permitted no operations within the precincts of the theatre.
“His mother implored him to find other work, but he laughed at her fears, teased her in his rough, affectionate way, gave her a large part of his earnings, and even spoke of eventually opening a theatre for himself. “Smile, little ma, smile,” he cajoled her, “your son will be a theatre-owner some day.” She smiled at him tenderly but dubiously and he, big, raw-boned, boyish-faced, would take her in his arms and try to make her dance.
“A rival theatre was before long opened on the opposite side of the street. About the same time it also happened that, over a game of cards, he beat up one of his own clique. The latter with a number of others seceded to the place opposite. Thenceforth, a bitter feud arose between the rival establishments. At night, the blazing lamps on each side of the narrow street, around which the gaping children and eager girls flocked like moths, seemed to glare fiercely at each otler and lighted up the garish posters and spiteful glances of the rivals. Fist-fights occasionally took place, but he had a wav of deciding such confliets whirh made the other side reluctant to engage in them. His mother became more and more nervous and appre- hencive.
"Then occurred the terrible event of which many and conflicting versions are current. But all that is known with certainty is that one night after the performances, the two rival gangs clashed, and in the fierce mix-up which followed, knives were used and pistols fired. But when the police finally put the combatants to flight, it was discovered that 'Gypsy Jake' with whom he had quarrelled, and who was the leader of the other side, lay open-mouthed and dead, the blood slowly trickling from a bullet-wound in the neck, and that he, cool and defiant, was held by two policemen.
"They brought him before the sergeant at the police-station, where he
denied, fiercely and impudently, that he had fired the shot. He was held for the inquest, indicted by the grand jury, and imprisoned to await trial.
"In the meanwhile, his mother, whose heart had almost collapsed when she first learned of the terrible occurrence, was going from bad to worse. Forced to her bed, she had ceased to take any nourishment whatsoever, kept constantly imploring for news of him, and was rapidly wasting away. Then, one evening, the lodge doctor informed the dazed husband that his wife would not live till the close of the morrow.
"Next morning the prison officials were notified that the mother of No. 47 was dying and wanted to see her son. After some deliberation and consulting of rules, two well-fed, clean-shaven officers were dispatched to conduct to his home prisoner No. 47, handcuffed to each of them.
"In the cab, they told him with brutal directness where he was being taken and why. For a moment his face became livid and lost absolutely all expression. Then every muscle of his face contracted in a frenzy of agony, and instinctively he strained to raise his hands to his head.
"Damn you, what are you trying to do?" cried the officers as they jerked his hands down. He writhed in the seat of the cab, then fell back and gasped like one who is stifling.
"When they reached his home, his mother was already dead. The corpse lay stretched out on the floor of the dingy parlor, covered with a black cloth, the feet pointing to the door, and surrounded at the head by large, yellow-burning candles. The odor of the burning candles filled the room, mingled with another odor, faint and sickening, the odor of death. In the still dingier kitchen, and ranged on both sides of the corpse, sat on stood the family and neighbors, women mostly, wailing and swaying and wringing their hands.
"There was a lull when he appeared between his escorts. Then the