"Certainly, certainly," said the Colonel, "but I thought, of course, he
might have saved it. There are several of those people, you know, who do
a little business and have bank accounts."

"Yes, but they are in some sort of business. This man makes only thirty
dollars a month. Don't you see?"

The Colonel saw, or said he did. And he did not answer what he might
have answered, that Berry had no rent and no board to pay. His clothes
came from his master, and Kitty and Fannie looked to their mistress for
the larger number of their supplies. He did not call to their minds that
Fannie herself made fifteen dollars a month, and that for two years Joe
had been supporting himself. These things did not come up, and as far as
the opinion of the gentlemen assembled in the Continental bar went,
Berry was already proven guilty.

As for the prisoner himself, after the first day when he had pleaded
"Not guilty" and been bound over to the Grand Jury, he had fallen into
a sort of dazed calm that was like the stupor produced by a drug. He
took little heed of what went on around him. The shock had been too
sudden for him, and it was as if his reason had been for the time
unseated. That it was not permanently overthrown was evidenced by his
waking to the most acute pain and grief whenever Fannie came to him.
Then he would toss and moan and give vent to his sorrow in passionate
complaints.

"I did n't tech his money, Fannie, you know I did n't. I wo'ked fu'
every cent of dat money, an' I saved it myself. Oh, I 'll nevah be able
to git a job ag'in. Me in de lock-up--me, aftah all dese yeahs!"