Earlier in the trial a police officer named Delany, the supposed chief witness for the prosecution, fainted and fell from the witness chair.  Upon his recovery he was then and there committed for perjury, in default of ten thousand dollars bail.  It is understood that he has signified his willingness to turn state’s evidence, but that his offer has not been accepted.  So far as can be ascertained this is the first time either Hogan or Simpkins has been accused of a criminal offense.  District Attorney Peckham stated that in addition to separate indictments for extortion and perjury he would ask for another, charging all three defendants with the crime of conspiracy to obstruct the due administration of the law.

At the conclusion of the proceedings Judge Watkins permitted a voluntary collection to be taken up by Mr. Tutt on behalf of the accused among the jury, the court attendants and the spectators, which amounted to eleven hundred and eighty-nine dollars.  In this connection the judge expressed the opinion that it was unfortunate that persons falsely accused of crime and unjustly imprisoned should have no financial redress other than by a special act of the legislature.  The defendant in the case at bar had been locked up for six weeks.  Among the contributions was found a new one-thousand-dollar bill.

“Talk about crime!” quoth the Deacon savagely to Charlie Still, of the Sun.  “That feckless fool at the city desk committed assault, mayhem and murder on that story of mine!” Then he added pensively:  “If I thought old man Tutt would slip me a thousand to soothe my injured feelings I’d go down and retain his firm myself!”

The Kid and the Camel

  Breathes there the man with soul so dead
  Who never to himself hath said,
  This is my own, my native land! 
    —­Lay of the last minstrel.

The shortest street in the world, Edgar Street, connects New York’s financial center with the Levant.  It is less than fifty feet through this tiny thoroughfare from the back doors of the great Broadway office buildings to Greenwich Street, where the letters on the window signs resemble contorted angleworms and where one is as likely to stumble into a man from Bagdad as from Boston.  One can stand in the middle of it and with his westerly ear catch the argot of Gotham and with his easterly all the dialects of Damascus.  And if through some unexpected convulsion of Nature 51 Broadway should topple over, Mr. Zimmerman, the stockbroker, whose office is on the sixth story, might easily fall clear of the Greek restaurant in the corner of Greenwich Street, roll twenty-five yards more down Morris Street, and find himself on Washington Street reading a copy of Al-Hoda and making his luncheon off baha gannouge, majaddarah and milookeiah, which, after all, are only eggplant salad, lentils and rice, and the popular favorite known as Egyptian Combination.