The Gilded Age by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner

shootings.

The statement from Laura was not full, in fact it was fragmentary, and

consisted of nine parts of, the reporter’s valuable observations to one

of Laura’s, and it was, as the reporter significantly remarked,

“incoherent”, but it appeared that Laura claimed to be Selby’s wife,

or to have been his wife, that he had deserted her and betrayed her, and

that she was going to follow him to Europe. When the reporter asked:

“What made you shoot him Miss. Hawkins?”

Laura’s only reply was, very simply,

“Did I shoot him? Do they ,say I shot him?”. And she would say no more.

The news of the murder was made the excitement of the day. Talk of it

filled the town. The facts reported were scrutinized, the standing of

the parties was discussed, the dozen different theories of the motive,

broached in the newspapers, were disputed over.

During the night subtle electricity had carried the tale over all the

wires of the continent and under the sea; and in all villages and towns

of the Union, from the. Atlantic to the territories, and away up and

down the Pacific slope, and as far as London and Paris and Berlin, that

morning the name of Laura Hawkins was spoken by millions and millions of

people, while the owner of it–the sweet child of years ago, the

beautiful queen of Washington drawing rooms–sat shivering on her cot-bed

in the darkness of a damp cell in the Tombs.

CHAPTER XLVII.

Philip’s first effort was to get Harry out of the Tombs. He gained

permission to see him, in the presence of an officer, during the day,

and he found that hero very much cast down.

“I never intended to come to such a place as this, old fellow,” he said

to Philip; “it’s no place for a gentleman, they’ve no idea how to treat a

gentleman. Look at that provender,” pointing to his uneaten prison

ration. “They tell me I am detained as a witness, and I passed the night

among a lot of cut-throats and dirty rascals–a pretty witness I’d be in

a month spent in such company.”

“But what under heavens,” asked Philip, “induced you to come to New York

with Laura! What was it for?”

“What for? Why, she wanted me to come. I didn’t know anything about

that cursed Selby. She said it was lobby business for the University.

I’d no idea what she was dragging me into that confounded hotel for.

I suppose she knew that the Southerners all go there, and thought she’d

find her man. Oh! Lord, I wish I’d taken your advice. You might as

well murder somebody and have the credit of it, as get into the

newspapers the way I have. She’s pure devil, that girl. You ought to

have seen how sweet she was on me; what an ass I am.”

“Well, I’m not going to dispute a poor, prisoner. But the first thing is

to get you out of this. I’ve brought the note Laura wrote you, for one

thing, and I’ve seen your uncle, and explained the truth of the case to

him. He will be here soon.”

Harry’s uncle came, with; other friends, and in the course of the day

made such a showing to the authorities that Harry was released, on giving

bonds to appear as a witness when wanted. His spirits rose with their

usual elasticity as soon as he was out of Centre Street, and he insisted

on giving Philip and his friends a royal supper at Delmonico’s, an excess

which was perhaps excusable in the rebound of his feelings, and which was

committed with his usual reckless generosity. Harry ordered, the supper,

and it is perhaps needless to say, that Philip paid the bill.

Neither of the young men felt like attempting to see Laura that day,

and she saw no company except the newspaper reporters, until the arrival

of Col. Sellers and Washington Hawkins, who had hastened to New York

with all speed.

They found Laura in a cell in the upper tier of the women’s department.

The cell was somewhat larger than those in the men’s department, and

might be eight feet by ten square, perhaps a little longer. It was of