"I have nothing to say to you," remarked the judge, "in addition to what the district attorney has said. He has fully expressed my own sentiments in this case. I regard you as vampires, sucking the blood of the weak, helpless, and criminal. Mercy would be out of place if extended toward you. I sentence you both to the full limit which the law allows--ten years in State's prison at hard labor." An officer clapped us upon the back, faced us round toward the rear of the court-room, and pushed us toward the door leading to the prison pen, while another slipped a handcuff on my right wrist and snapped its mate on Gottlieb's left. "Get on there," he growled, "where you belong!" The crowds strained to get a look at us as, with averted faces, we trudged toward the door leading to the prison pen. Our lawyers had already hastened away to avoid any reflected ignominy that might attach to them. The jurymen were shaking hands with the district attorney. "Adjourn court!" I heard the judge remark. With a whoop, the spectators in the court-room crowded upon our heels and surged up to the grating before the door. "There's Gottlieb!" cried one. "The little fellow!" "And that's Quibble--the pale chap with the thin face!" said another. "Damn you! Get out of the way!" I shouted threateningly. "There go the shysters!" retorted the crowd. "Sing Sing's the best place for them!" The keeper opened the door and motioned back the spectators. I staggered through, shackled to my partner and dragging him along with me. As the door clanged to I heard some one say: "There goes the last of the firm of Gottlieb & Quibble!" End of Project Gutenberg's The Confessions of Artemas Quibble, by Arthur Train