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Updated: June 19, 2025
Send some bread to my wife!" "Lie down," said the Italian, pressing softly on his shoulders; but Richling as quietly resisted. "She is near here, Ristofalo. You can send with the greatest ease! You can do anything, Ristofalo, if you only choose!" "Lay down," said the Italian again, and pressed more heavily.
Ristofalo remarked, in the form of polite acknowledgment, that the rector had preached to the assembled inmates of the prison on the Sunday previous. "Did I say anything that you thought was true?" asked the minister. The Italian smiled in the gentle manner that never failed him. "Didn't listen much," he said. He drew from a pocket of his black velveteen pantaloons a small crumpled tract.
Many a dollar he might have earned the past summer, had he been as ingeniously wise, he thought. "Ristofalo is coming here this evening," said he, taking a seat in the alley window. Mary looked at him with sidelong merriment. The Italian was coming to see Mrs. Riley. "Why, John," whispered Mary, standing beside him, "she's nearly ten years older than he is!"
There was scarcely time to talk even with the tough little rector who hovers on the borders of this history, and he might have become quite an alien had not Richling's earnest request made him one day a visitor, as we have seen him express his intention of being, in the foul corridors of the parish prison, and presently the occupant of a broken chair in the apartment apportioned to Raphael Ristofalo and two other prisoners.
By-the-by, I suppose you know that Raphael Ristofalo went to prison last night again?" Richling sprang to his feet. "For what? He hasn't" "Yes, sir; he has discovered the man who robbed him, and has killed him." Richling started away, but halted as the Doctor spoke again, rising from his seat and shaking out his legs. "He's not suffering any hardship.
He believed them, liked them heartily because they said nothing about references, and gratefully distended himself with their husks, until Ristofalo opened his eyes by saying, when one of these men had disappointed Richling the third time: "Business man don't promise but once." "You lookin' for book-keeper's place?" asked the Italian at another time. "Why don't dress like a book-keeper?"
"John, something tells me we're near the end of our troubles." John laughed grimly. "Ristofalo was to get back to the city to-day: maybe he's going to put us out of our misery. There are two ways for troubles to end." He walked away as he spoke. As he passed under the window in the alley, its sash was thrown up and Mary leaned out on her elbows. "John!" "Well?"
Then a new thought occurred to him, and he began again abruptly: "Look ut here! Ye said in yer serrmon that as to Him" he pointed through the broken ceiling "we're all criminals alike, didn't ye?" "I did," responded the preacher, in a low tone. "Yes," said Ristofalo; and the boy echoed the same word. "Well, thin, what rights has some to be out an' some to be in?"
Ristofalo sat facing him a little way off on the right. A youth of nineteen sat tipped against the wall on the left, and a long-limbed, big-boned, red-shirted young Irishman occupied a poplar table, hanging one of his legs across a corner of it and letting the other down to the floor.
When Richling and Ristofalo reached him there was already a rope about his neck. The Italian's leap, as he closed in upon the group around the victim, was like a tiger's. The men he touched did not fall; they were rather hurled, driving backward those whom they were hurled against. A man levelled a revolver at him; Richling struck it a blow that sent it over twenty men's heads.
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