get back into the penitentiary. Also, there were a great many murder
cases that kept bobbing up every now and then for continuance on one
plea or another to the disgust of the harassed judges; to say
nothing of the re-trials made necessary by the jurors who listened
more attentively to the lawyers who "summed up" than they did to the
witnesses who were under oath to tell nothing but the truth.

Cassius, on arraignment, had pleaded not guilty, according to the
ancient ritual of his profession. Notwithstanding his evident and
expressed desire to return to a haven of peace and luxury, he was
far too conscientious a criminal to violate the soundest--it may
well be said, the elemental--law of his craft, by pleading guilty to
anything.

It was a matter of principle with him. Circumstances had nothing to
do with it. The instant he found himself in court, he reverted to
type, somewhat gleefully setting about to make as much trouble as
possible. He adhered to the principle that no criminal is adequately
punished unless the people are made to pay for the privilege of
suppressing him. The only way to make the people respect the law, he
contended, is to let 'em understand that it costs money to enforce
it. Besides, crime has a certain, clearly established dignity that
must be reckoned with. The world thinks a great deal less of you if
after you have violated the law, you also refuse to fight it.

Take the judge, for instance. (I quote Smilk.) What sort of an
opinion does he have of you if you slide up to the little "gate,"
with your tail between your legs and plead guilty? Why, he hardly
notices you. He has to put on his spectacles in order to see you at
all and he doesn't even have to look in the statute book to refresh