Capital punishment -- Fiction; Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Prisoners -- Fiction
“Of course I know you can’t, for I know you’re poor like me, but so many
times when I thought about the boy I thought that maybe you and your
mother might raise him just the way I would have done; and then your
mother was always so good to all of us. I remember how she used to raise
the little geese down along the canal if anything happened to the old
goose; don’t you remember about that? My, but them was fine times,
wa’n’t they? Of course if you could do it I don’t know but the alderman
would help you; anyhow he’d get free books and clothes off’n the county
when he went to school. How are politics up in the ward? Is he goin’ to
run again? I never hear anything only what I get out of the papers and
they’re all against him, but I think he’ll show ‘em yet. Wish I was out
so I could help. But I must go on with what I brought you to hear. I’m
goin’ to tell you the whole story just exactly as it is, and you know
that I wouldn’t tell you a lie tonight with what they are goin’ to do in
the mornin’. I can’t make you understand unless I commence clear at the
beginnin’, but I know you won’t mind, seein’ it’s my last time.”
II
You know I was born in Chicago and never was out of it but once until
the night it happened. I don’t know anything about my father and mother
except what my aunt told me. You know she raised me, and I can’t make
any complaint about the way she done it. I was real small when I went to
live with her. She stayed all alone down on the canal. I guess you knew
me when I was livin’ with her. She worked hard, but, of course, ladies
of that kind don’t get much. She used to go over to the south side to do
washin’ and to clean houses, and things like that, and sometimes when I
was small she took me along. They were awful nice houses where we went.
That’s how I got to know so much about the way rich people live. When I
got bigger, she used to send me to school. I was pretty steady in school
and got clear up to the sixth grade. I know it must have been awful hard
for her to send me the way she earnt her money, but she seemed to think
as much of me as if I’d been her own boy. She could have got along
better, but every time she got five or ten dollars laid up it seemed as
if there was a funeral of some of the neighbors and she had to club in
and hire a carriage, and that took her money almost as fast as she could
earn it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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