Boston Herald.
“And suppose a woman is unbear
ably aggravating, kicks and shrieks, 1
etc. I suppose you put her in a small,
dark cell I” I query. “That we do
after all other measures are tried in
vain, ” replied my host. “Well,
please put mein one for five minutes,’’ i
I requested. On this lam led toward
the cell “most politely,” as is sung in
Princess Ida. “Please, Mr. Jailer. I
want anew sensation; I want to
struggle and be forced in. and hear
the clink in the lock with a spiteful
snap; else how can I write of the dark
cell realistically?”
On this I proceed to throw my
arms about and behave otherwise in
most rebellious manner. With a
quiet smile I am humored in my little
“crank,” and in a second I find my
hands pinioned in a firm grip, and
pushed into the dark cell, hearing the
key clink iu the lock, over the one
wee bar at the top seeing the last of
the light. I know it was silly, but,
overcome with terror, I was speech
less for one brief second, and it seem
ed to me as if an icy cold hand held
my temples in a cruel pressure. Then
from my dumb lips came a piercing
shriek, that echoed through those de
serted halls with horrible distinctness.
Five minutes! It was an hour before
they returned with the lanterns.
