st handsome. "The boys are coming in by every
train," he said. "Look here." He pulled me aside, and unbuttoned his
vest. A piece of faded gray cloth was disclosed. He had the old gray
jacket on under his other coat. "I know the boys will like to see it,"
he said. "I'm going down to the train now to meet one--Binford Terrell.
I don't know whether I shall know him. Binford and I used to be much
of a size. We did not use to speak at one time; had a falling out about
which one should hold the horses; I made him do it, but I reckon he
won't remember it now. I don't. I have not touched a drop. Good-by." He
went off.

The next night about bedtime I got a message that a man wanted to see me
at the jail immediately. It was urgent. Would I come down there at once?
I had a foreboding, and I went down. It was as I suspected. "No. 4" was
there behind the bars. "Drunk again," said the turnkey, laconically, as
he let me in. He let me see him. He wanted me to see the judge and
get him out. He besought me. He wept. "It was all an accident;" he had
"found some of the old boys, and they had got to talking over old times,
and just for old times' sake," etc. He was too drunk to stand up; but
the terror of being locked up next day had sobered him, and his mind was
perfectly clear. He implored me to see the judge and to get him to let
him out. "Tell him I will come back here and stay a year if he will let
me out to-morrow," he said brokenly. He showed me the gray jacket under
his vest, and was speechless. Even then he did not ask release on the
ground that he was a veteran. I never knew him to urge this reason. Even
the officials who must have seen him there fifty times were sympathetic;
and they told me to see the justice, and they believed he would let him
out for next day. I applied to him as they suggested. He said, "Come
down to court to-morrow morning." I did so. "No. 4" was present, pale
and trembling. As he stood there he made a better defence than any one
else could have made for him. He admitted his guilt, and said he had
nothing to say in extenuation except that it was the "old story", he
"had not intended it; he deserved it all, but would like to get off that
day; had a special reason for it, and would, if necessary, go back to
jail that evening and stay there a year, or all his life." As he
stood awaiting sentence, he looked like a damned soul. His coat was
unbuttoned, and his old, faded gray jacket showed under it. The justice,