The next evening I was sent back to my cell. I found plenty to eat waiting me, and after a good supper my case was tried by my cellmate lawyers. They threshed it out from every conceivable angle, and declared that if I got convicted I would have to do it myself on the witness stand. They were so sure I wouldn’t come back that George gave me a ten-dollar bill.

“Take that, Kid, you’ll need it. You can send it back when you feel able.”

I promised to write them, and we agreed on a fictitious name for me to use. They all shook hands, bade me goodbye, and sent me away in high hopes.

Judge Powers himself was in court the next morning. A fine, tall, gray, elderly gentleman, he patted me on the back in a fatherly manner.

“Young man, I am going to put you on the witness stand and ask you one question: ‘Are you guilty or not guilty of this charge?’ You answer ‘No,’ and don’t answer any other questions from anybody unless I tell you to.”