Well, there's a whole lot more I could tell you, but that's the principal part, and improbable as it all sounds, that's the true story of the successive links of evidence which resolved themselves into the complete chain of circumstantial evidence which kept me away from Palo Alto. I had a crumpled postal in my pocket, and penciled on it "Don't condemn me, Jack, until you hear my story." and begged a negro to mail to you for me. I addressed it to you at Palo Alto, California, but I doubt if you ever received it, as when I got out a couple of weeks later, your letter awaited me at the Post Office, forwarded from Huron, and you didn't say anything about having received the postal card. Well, the judge visited me during my confinement, and drew out of me my real name and address, but none of my past history or future plans, and he at once surmised that I was some kid who had rambled from home and mother, so he wrote my father a lengthy letter, the tenor of which was that a boy claiming to be his son was confined in that city on a charge of vagrancy, and that while the boy was bright and intelligent, he was most assuredly on the wrong path of life. He believed that a kindly interest by my parents, manifested at this time, would work wonders in transforming me into a future good and useful citizen. He further added that his advice would be to send either my railroad ticket home, or sufficient capital to start me out on some new project, as he really believed the young man meant well. Pending an answer to his letter he would keep me apart from the toughs and general habitués of the bull pen. Now he read this note to me, and while it appealed to my sense of humor, I couldn't imagine what would happen if he sent it, so I fairly begged him not to do so, telling him that my folks thought I was doing well, and I promised more things than I can think of, so he didn't mail the letter, but instead let me out a couple of weeks after my arrest. When I received your letter I was much disheartened to see the Asheville post mark, as it told me that you had taken the trip across the continent for nothing at all--and also, old man, while your letter was more polite and courteous than could be expected under such circumstances, I could see between the lines all that you left unsaid and what you thought of me, and that the letter was lacking in the old time enthusiasm, but God, old man, I couldn't help it, and can never express in words the sorrow I feel in having disappointed you.