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 "Read it," echoed the others.

I didn't propose to read that long grist again, and so one of the players was deputized to perform the task. He commenced with the report on Anson, and I heard one of the players ejaculate, "Here's where the old man gets off." A minute later someone whispered, "Here's where Billy (Sunday) slides out," and so on until the real business of the report began.

Unfeigned interest kept everyone silent until the reading had ended. Then Kelly broke the silence with one of his characteristic drolleries, saying: "I have to offer only one amendment. In that place where the detective reports me as taking a lemonade at 3 a. m. he's off. It was a straight whiskey; I never drank a lemonade at that hour in my life."

"Now, boys," I said, "what's to be done about it? I understand that you plead guilty to the indictment. What's to be the penalty?"

"That's up to you, sir."

"Anson, what's to be the punishment? Do you want, to fine these men?"

"No," said Anson, "we don't want their money."

"I'll tell you what we will do," said I. "I appoint you seven men a committee to report the punishment to be inflicted upon yourselves."

"How much did you pay the detective?" asked one of the guilty.

"One hundred and seventy-five dollars," I replied.

"Well," said he, "there's just seven of us. Suppose we stand $25 apiece?"