him with a kick without the trouble of hitching along toward him or getting fairly up to deliver it, our people only grumbled at him, and cursed him, and called him insulting names—­for misery and hardship do not make their victims gentle or charitable toward each other.  But as he neither tried humbly to conciliate our people nor swore back at them, his unnatural conduct created surprise, and several of the party crawled to him where he lay in the dim light that came through the grating, and examined into his case.  His head was very bloody and his wits were gone.  After about an hour, he sat up and stared around; then his eyes grew more natural and he began to tell how that he was going along with a bag on his shoulder and a brace of policemen ordered him to stop, which he did not do—­was chased and caught, beaten ferociously about the head on the way to the prison and after arrival there, and finally I thrown into our den like a dog.

And in a few seconds he sank down again and grew flighty of speech.  One of our people was at last penetrated with something vaguely akin to compassion, may be, for he looked out through the gratings at the guardian officer, pacing to and fro, and said: 

“Say, Mickey, this shrimp’s goin’ to die.”

“Stop your noise!” was all the answer he got.  But presently our man tried it again.  He drew himself to the gratings, grasping them with his hands, and looking out through them, sat waiting till the officer was passing once more, and then said: 

“Sweetness, you’d better mind your eye, now, because you beats have killed this cuss.  You’ve busted his head and he’ll pass in his checks before sun-up.  You better go for a doctor, now, you bet you had.”

The officer delivered a sudden rap on our man’s knuckles with his club, that sent him scampering and howling among the sleeping forms on the flag-stones, and an answering burst of laughter came from the half dozen policemen idling about the railed desk in the middle of the dungeon.

But there was a putting of heads together out there presently, and a conversing in low voices, which seemed to show that our man’s talk had made an impression; and presently an officer went away in a hurry, and shortly came back with a person who entered our cell and felt the bruised man’s pulse and threw the glare of a lantern on his drawn face, striped with blood, and his glassy eyes, fixed and vacant.  The doctor examined the man’s broken head also, and presently said: 

“If you’d called me an hour ago I might have saved this man, may be too late now.”

Then he walked out into the dungeon and the officers surrounded him, and they kept up a low and earnest buzzing of conversation for fifteen minutes, I should think, and then the doctor took his departure from the prison.  Several of the officers now came in and worked a little with the wounded man, but toward daylight he died.