When he concluded there was a ripple of applause from the spectators that the court officers made little attempt to subdue; and the judge began his charge, which lasted but a few minutes.

What he said was fair enough, and I had no mind to quarrel with him, although our counsel took many exceptions.

The jury retired and my partner and I were led downstairs into the prison pen.

It was crowded with miserable creatures waiting to be tried -- negroes and Sicilians, thieves and burglars--who took keen delight in jostling us and foretelling what long sentences we were to receive.

One negro kicked me in the shins and cursed me for being a shyster, and when I protested to the keeper he only laughed at me.
About half an hour later an officer came to the head of the stairs and shouted down: "Bring up Gottlieb and Quibble!" Our keeper unlocked the pen and, followed by the execrations of our associates, we stumbled up the stairs and into the court-room.
Slowly we marched around to the bar, while every eye was fixed upon us.