He had long been a familiar sight to "Zoners" among the
swarm of bootblacks that infest the corner near the P. R. R.
station. He claimed to be eleven, and looked it. But having
already served time for burglary and horse-stealing, his
conviction for stealing a gold necklace from a negro washerwoman
of San Miguel left the Chief Justice no choice but to send him to
meditate a half-year at Culebra. There is no reform school on the
Zone. The few American minors who have been found guilty of
misdoing have been banished to their native land. When the deputy
warden had sufficiently recovered from the shock brought upon him
by the sight of his new charge to give me a receipt for him, I
raced for the noon train back to the city.
Thereon I sat down beside Pol--First-Class Policeman X---,
surprised to find him off duty and in civilian clothes. There was
a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, and not until the train was
racing past Rio Grande reservoir did he turn to confide to me the
following extraordinary occurrence:
"Last night I dreamed old Judge-----had my father and my mother up
before him. On the stand he asked my mother her age--and the funny
part of it is my mother has been dead over ten years. She turned
around and wrote on the wall with a piece of chalk '1859,' the
year she was born.
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