“Pressley G. Harper,” said the judge, “probably this is not the time or the place for the court to say how deeply it regrets the necessity of inflicting this punishment upon you. This court has known you for many years--for a great many years. You might have been a worthy citizen. You have been of good repute for truthfulness and fair dealing among your neighbors; but you have been beset, all your life, with a temper that was your abiding curse, and when excited with liquor you have been a menace to the safety of your fellowman. Time and time again, within the recollection of this court, you have been involved in unseemly brawls, largely of your own making. That you were generally inflamed with drink, and that you afterward seemed genuinely penitent and made what amends you could, does not serve to excuse you in the eyes of the law. That you have never taken a human life outright is a happy accident of chance. “Through the leniency of those appointed to administer the law you have until now escaped the proper and fitting consequences of your behavior; but, by this last wanton attack upon an inoffensive citizen, you have forfeited all claim upon the consideration of the designated authorities.” He paused for a little, fumbling at the bow of his spectacles. “In the natural course of human events you have probably but a few more years to live. It is to be regretted by all right-thinking men that you cannot go to your grave free from the stigma of a prison. And it is a blessing that you have no one closely related to you by ties of blood or marriage to share in your disgrace.” The old judge's high voice grew husked and roughened here, he being himself both widowed and childless. “The judgment of the court stands--two years at hard labor.” He made a sign that he was done. The sheriff edged up again and touched the sentenced man upon the arm. Without turning his head, Harper shook off the hand of authority with so violent a shrug that the sheriff dodged back, startled. Then for the first time the prisoner spoke. “Judge, Your Honor,” he said quietly, “jest a minute ago you asked me if I had anything to say and I told you that I had not. I've changed my mind; I want to ask you something--I want to ask you a mighty big favor. No, I ain't askin' you to let me off--it ain't that,” he went on more quickly, reading the look on the judge's face. “I didn't expect to come clear in this here case. I pleaded guilty because I was guilty and didn't have no defense. My bein' sorry for shootin' Virge Settle the way I did don't excuse me, as I know; but, Judge Priest, I'll say jest this to you--I don't want to be dragged off to that there penitentiary like a savage dumb beast. I don't want to be took there by no sheriff. And what I want to ask you is this: Can't I go there a free man, with free limbs? I promise you to go and to serve my time faithful--but I want to go by myself and give myself up like a man.”