No matter how confirmed a thief a man may be, I repeat, he hates to be convicted for something he has not done. He objects indeed more than an honest man would do, for he believes in having the other side play fair; whereas the honest man simply thinks a mistake has been made. While in the Tombs a murderous idea formed in my mind. I felt that I had been horribly wronged, and was hot for revenge. I was desperate, too, for I did not think I should live my bit out. Determined to make half a dozen angels, including myself, I induced a friend, who came to see me in the Tombs, to get me a revolver. I told him I wanted to create a panic with a couple of shots, and escape, but in reality I had no thought of escape. I was offered a light sentence, if I would plead guilty, but I refused. I believed I was going to die anyway, and that things did not matter; only I would have as much company as possible on the road to the other world. I meant to shoot the copper who had beaten me with his club, District Attorney Olcott, the judge, the complainant and myself as well, as soon as I should be taken into the court room for trial. The pistol however was taken away from me before I entered the court: I was convicted and sentenced to five years at Sing Sing. Much of the time I spent in stir on my third bit I still harbored this thought of murder. That was one reason I did not kill myself. The determination to do the copper on my release was always in my mind. I planned even a more cunning revenge. I imagined many a scheme to get him, and gloat over his dire misfortunes. One of my plans was to hunt him out on his beat, invite him to drink, and put thirty grains of hydrate of chloral in his glass. When he had become unconscious I would put a bottle of morphine in his trousers pocket, and then telephone to a few newspapers telling them that if they would send reporters to the saloon they would have a good story against a dope copper who smoked too much. The result would be, I thought, a rap against the copper and his disgrace and dismissal from the force would follow. Sometimes this seemed to me better than murder; for every copper who is "broke" immediately becomes a bum. When my copper should have become a bum I imagined myself catching him dead drunk and cutting his hamstrings. Certainly I was a fiend when I reflected on my wrongs, real and imaginary. At other times I thought I merely killed him outright. CHAPTER XIII. _In the Mad-House._ On the road to Sing Sing again! The public may say I was surely an incorrigible and ought to have been shut up anyway for safe keeping, but are they right if they say so? During my confinement I often heard the prison chaplain preach from the text "Though thou sinnest ninety and nine times thy sin shall be forgiven thee."