Part 38

More striking than the beautiful imageries and the wealth of quotation from ancient and modern authors with which the Colonel embellished his speech was his strong play upon "that fifteen minutes," which, according to his interpretation of the evidence, elapsed between the time the boys in Guerin's studio were ejected and the time when Archie came out, leaving his brother and Mrs. McDonald alone, behind locked doors.

"There need be nothing else in this case for you," exclaimed the speaker, "than this fifteen minutes unaccounted for. Archie Guerin knew what was going on there, and before God he should tell, but he did not. He hurried away and cleared the corridors. Nervous and confused, he hunted up Harry Feldman in the Windsor-Clifton Hotel, so that if anything happened, he could say:

"'I didn't do it. You know I didn't, Feldman. I was right here with you.'"

O'DONNELL MOVES TO TEARS.

There were wet eyes in the courtroom as the real Dora McDonald was brought to life in the closing address of Mr. O'Donnell. The bickerings and the charges and the abuse that had made the courtroom like a pothouse brawl all day were forgotten. The woman's black clad figure and her white, despairing face became the living picture of the world-old tragedy of the judgment and the problem of pardon.

"The tragedy was in that room," said Mr. O'Donnell, pointing to a plat of room 703 of the Omaha building, "and no one knows how the life of Guerin was ended.

"I am not going to place a wreath upon the brow of this woman. She is not all that a man would wish his wife to be. She has traveled the devious pathways and her eyes have fallen upon the shifting scenes of life.

"The Sabbath is coming on. Her ancestral people lit the candles at sundown last night. Somewhere in this city a light is burning where a Jewish mother is praying and hoping for her erring daughter. You are approaching the moment when you must do your great duty. You are here only to say whether she killed Guerin with a criminal intent in her heart.

QUOTES THE GOSPEL.

"A daughter of Israel coming to judgment. She may have been wayward, but we are not here to judge her past life. In a temple of Jerusalem many years ago the Saviour of us all stood before the multitude and they brought him a woman and said:

"'She has been taken in sin and she must die.' And he said:

"'Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.' And they walked away and left him with the woman. Then the Master said to the woman:

"'Go and sin no more.'

"Let us pass judgment upon this woman as the Son of Man passed it upon the woman of old that we may expect mercy when we stand at last where the fallen woman of Jerusalem stood."

Mr. O'Donnell created a scene of profound dramatic features when he based his contention that Guerin blackmailed Mrs. McDonald upon a letter written by Guerin. He called the ghost of Guerin to take the witness stand and testify against the state's attorneys.

ACQUITTAL CREATES THRILLING SCENES.

These were the scenes which attended the rendition of the Dora McDonald verdict:

"Bring in the jury," said Judge Brentano, as he dropped into the big leather-upholstered chair behind the bench.

Bradley was waiting for the word at the door to the Judge's right. Looking very solemn and sphinx-like, the twelve men filed in and took their usual places.

At the same time Mrs. McDonald came through the corridor from the custodian's room, accompanied by her nurse, Miss A. K. Beck. Miss Beck was trembling, but there was not a tremor in Mrs. McDonald's hands or a movement of the facial muscles to indicate that she felt the least excitement.

Attorney Norden pulled out her armchair for her and pushed it under her again as she sat down. Every man in the courtroom felt a choke in his throat, but if Mrs. McDonald felt it she gave no evidence of it.

"Gentlemen," said the judge, turning toward the jury, "have you agreed upon a verdict?"

At first there was no answer, and the judge had to repeat the question. That interval was like a lapse of a week or a month.

Mrs. McDonald, who had not been asked to rise, sat facing the jury and looking straight at them. She considered it only polite to keep awake and to forego those beloved "dreams" of hers in honor of the verdict, whatever it might be.

SUSPENSE FRIGHTFUL.

"Have you agreed upon a verdict?" repeated Judge Brentano, a little impatiently.

"We have," replied the foreman, Hugh H. Fulton, rising and displaying a paper which he held in his right hand.

"Let the Clerk of the Court read it."

A. J. Harris, the Clerk, was already in front of the railing to receive the paper. He took it to his desk, and holding it under an incandescent lamp, for the courtroom was dark, he read, in a loud voice:

"We, the jury, find the defendant, Dora McDonald, not guilty."

It was as though you had touched a match to a pile of gunpowder. The people in the courtroom seemed to explode. They did not cheer, or applaud, or shout, and yet they appeared to be doing all of them. The tension was broken and a sort of bubbling effervescence took its place.

MCDONALD JURORS TELL OF THE VERDICT.

"The jury found Mrs. McDonald innocent because they could not feel sure that she did not act in self-defense, and, following the instructions of the court, gave her the benefit of the doubt."

This was the opinion voiced by Juror Charles McGrath. Mr. McGrath said that the jury presumed the defendant sane, and that the matter of possible insanity was not considered at any time.

"I think that the jury attached a great deal of importance to the testimony of Dr. McNamara," continued Mr. McGrath.

"He was the only physician that had made a thorough physical examination of the defendant subsequent to Guerin's death. We especially paid a great deal of attention to that portion of his testimony that told of the marks found on Mrs. McDonald's neck, indicating that she had been choked. This evidence, taken with that relative to the finding of the hairpins on the floor, showed that there had been a struggle, and the court had instructed us that if we found that there had been a struggle we would be justified in finding a verdict of acquittal.

"Although I, perhaps, ought to speak only for myself, I will say that I do not think that the members of the jury were much impressed with the expert testimony."

Another juror said that those favoring an acquittal based their arguments largely on the fact that most of the evidence in the case was circumstantial, and that there was no absolute proof that Mrs. McDonald fired the fatal shot at all, and that if she did it was not shown that it was not in self-defense.

"It was mostly by argument along these lines that the conviction men were won over, one by one," said this juror. "The subject of the unwritten law was not gone into at all."

WOMAN SERENE AS VERDICT IS READ.

Dora McDonald, in a state of serenity and composure that is baffling even to those who are nearest her, was surrounded after her acquittal by friends and relatives, who were weeping for very joy at her acquittal.

She seemed quite unconcerned about it all, but when they took her to one side and asked her how she felt about it, she said, in the amazingly simple way she has:

"I am pleased. Do you want me to tell you the five reasons why?"

They said yes, and though she lost herself several times in the attempt, for she was very tired--these were the reasons she gave:

1--Because no Jewish woman could ever do a deed like that of which I had been accused.

2--Because it removes the stigma from dad's (Michael C. McDonald's) name.

3--Because of my boy.

4--Because of my darling old mother.

5--Please believe it, last and least--absolutely least of these--because of myself.

"The only real disappointment to me is that dad did not live to hear that verdict, and that is my bitterest disappointment."

It had been the belief generally among those who followed the case that the woman would not outlive the verdict long, no matter what it might be. The original plans were that she would be sent to a sanitarium in case of acquittal. She herself is said to have planned that if let go she would make a journey to Jerusalem, and there end her days in prayer with her chosen people, in an effort to blot out her past. "Life can never have any more meaning for her," Colonel Lewis said when the jury first retired. "No matter what the verdict, it is of little consequence to her, though she will die happier, maybe, if she is acquitted."

In Jerusalem there is what is known as the "Wall of the Wailing of the Jews." In the Valley of Tyron, at the foot of Mount Moriah, on which now stands the Mosque of Omar, but where formerly the Temple of Solomon stood, there are five enormous stones built into the foot of the hill. A little courtyard beside these stones, which Solomon laid as the foundations of his Temple, is set aside for the Jewish race. Each Friday this courtyard is filled with Jews wailing for the sorrows of Israel. Every type of Jew, from the hunted Russian to the wealthy American, may be found there, reading from the Book of Lamentations, and sending the cry of sorrow to the skies. It was here that Dora McDonald proposed to weep out her ruined life.

But no, it is not the Place of Wailing in Jerusalem to which Dora McDonald has gone. Hard as it is to believe of the woman who so bravely passed through this tremendous ordeal, she has stooped, stooped lower than one would believe humanly possible. She has returned to the stage. She is now engaged in attempting to have a play based upon the tremendous tragedy of her life placed on the boards in New York.

She is attempting to lay bare to the gaping audiences of cheap theatres the sores upon her soul. She has been calloused to publicity to such an extent that she now hungers for the public eye. She has placed herself in the same class with the lepers outside the walls of Jerusalem who display their horrid sutures and demand a penny before they replace the bandages. To this petty end has come this greatest and most spectacular of modern trials, this heart-shaking romance of love and life.

The Vampire.

After Painting by SIR ED. BURNE-JONES

Verses by RUDYARD KIPLING.

A fool there was and he made his prayer-- (Even as you and I.) To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair-- (We called her the woman who did not care) But the fool he called her his lady fair-- (Even as you and I.)

Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste-- And the work of our head and hand Belong to the woman who did not know-- (And now we know that she never could know) And did not understand.

A fool there was and his goods he spent-- (Even as you and I.) Honor and faith and a sure intent-- (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant) But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you and I.)

Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost-- And the excellent things we planned Belong to the woman who didn't know why-- (And now we know she never knew why) And did not understand.

The fool was stripped to his foolish hide-- (Even as you and I.) Which she might have seen when she threw him aside-- (But it isn't on record the lady tried) So some of him lived but the most of him died-- (Even as you and I.)

But it isn't the shame, and it isn't the blame That sting like a white hot brand-- It's coming to know that she never knew why-- (Seeing at last she could never know why) And could never understand.

MIKE McDONALD.

"King of Gamblers," Supreme in His Day, Relentless Nemesis of Old "Clark Street Gang," Brings His Gray Hairs to Grave With Broken Heart.

Rises From Newsboy to Gambling King and Becomes Millionaire.

Mike McDonald's career in Chicago has been spectacular and sensational to a degree.

The present-day generation in Chicago cannot appreciate what the name Michael C. McDonald meant twenty years ago in Chicago. There is not a single man today in Chicago, or in any city in America who occupies relatively the position that Mike McDonald did in the old days in Chicago.

He never held office, but he ruled the city with an iron hand. He named the men who were to be candidates for election; he elected them; and then, after they were in office, they were merely his puppets.

While in recent years Michael C. McDonald has shown little activity in Chicago political and sporting circles, living quietly at Drexel boulevard and Forty-fifth street, in a costly mansion, his name twenty years ago was a power in both.

Born in 1840 in Niagara county, New York, he came to Chicago in 1854 and was a newsboy with John R. Walsh and other pioneers, in the city's infancy. Before the war a business venture took him to New Orleans, and when the south began to become inflamed he returned to Chicago with enough money to purchase the sample room of the Richmond House, Michigan avenue and South Water street.

Here a spectacular career began. McDonald became the big gambler of all the host of gamblers that were then growing rich in Chicago. He also became one of the leaders in the democratic organization. He made money hand over fist.

BEGINS LIFE AS "CANDY BUTCHER."

Mike McDonald began life as a "candy butcher" on railroad trains before the war. He sold peanuts and popcorn and mysterious packages not to be opened on the train, and fine gold watches at $3.75 apiece.

Mike ran on many different railroads, although it must be said for the sake of truth that his customers were often very sorry to board a train and find that the energetic little candy butcher who had sold them jewelry on the last trip they had made had left and gone over to some other railroad. Mike's old customers used to beg him to return to them. They even dared him to come back.

PATRIOTIC FOR A PRICE.

The candy butcher made money and saved it, and during the war he settled down in Chicago. Mike was very patriotic. He sent many men around to the enlistment offices, especially when big bounties were offered for volunteers. The trouble with the gallant soldiers that Mike put into the service was that after they got their bounty money they lost their enthusiasm and faded from view, like an evanescent mist.

Mike made much money out of his bounty-jumpers, but lost a good deal of it gambling. At this time he trained with "Tip" Farrell, Charley Miller, John Sutton and Matt Duffy, who figured more or less in the police records of that time. Sutton was shot and killed in front of Pete Page's saloon, on Clark street, in 1864.

Toward the close of the war McDonald and a notorious St. Paul crook lost $600 in the famous game that Colonel Cameron was running in Chicago. McDonald found out that the cards were stocked against him, and it discouraged him with having anything more to do with poker playing from the front of the table. Colonel Cameron had taught him, at the expense of $600, that the money in gambling was in running the game, not playing it. From that day Mike McDonald never gambled. He straightway opened his own game.

With Dave Oaks he started a game of faro at 89 Dearborn street. It was a nice, little, modest game, with only those two as the entire crew of the place. They took turn alternate days as dealer and roper in. The suckers who played the game used to complain frequently that the firm of Oaks & McDonald worked sleight-of-hand tricks with the faro deck, and the unkind police used to raid the game every day.

SOLVED GAMBLING PROBLEM.

This frequent raiding cut frightfully into the profits of the enterprising firm of Oaks & McDonald, and set the junior member thinking again. He had already solved the great problem that it is better to run a brace game than to play one, but he found there were thorns even in running a game. Therefore he set to work to discover how these thorns could be removed.

The thorns that beset his career as a gambler were the police. But the police acted under instructions from the chief of police. The chief of police acted under instructions from the administration. Therefore, McDonald figured out that he would have to control the administration. So he straightway blossomed out as a politician, and grew in importance until finally he ruled Chicago, and realized the great ambition of his life, to make and unmake things like chiefs of police, with a curt nod of his head.

ONCE RULED ALL CHICAGO.

Mike McDonald never got over his hatred for the police that was born in the days when they used to raid his little game at 89 Dearborn street. He probably would have abolished the police department entirely when he finally found himself on the throne of Chicago, had it not been that he found the police useful in making the other fellows behave, while he could do as he pleased. And then, it was such a joy to make the police bend the knee and acknowledge him as Lord and Master.

Generally the superintendents of police knew what was expected of them before they accepted the office, but once in a while one of them had foolish notions about duty and law, and had to be taught his place. Poor old Simon O'Donnell, when he became superintendent of police, in the days when Mike McDonald ran "The Store" and ruled Chicago, got the idea, because of numerous complaints of many patrons of the gambling games in "The Store," that the place should be raided. So he raided it.

It was a most impious act. It was like laying hands on the Ark of the Covenant. Superintendent Simon O'Donnell lost his job so quickly it made his head ache, and William J. McGarigle, whom McDonald afterward made warden of the county hospital, and who was indicted and convicted of boodling, was installed as superintendent of police in place of the simple-minded Mr. O'Donnell.

Mike McDonald's hatred and contempt for the police is preserved in a joke that the few minstrel companies still left on earth continue to cherish as one of their best beloved jests. It originated with McDonald. One day, when he was in the zenith of his power, a man came into "The Store" with a subscription list.

"The boys are raising a little money, Mike," said the man. "We'd like to have you give something. We are putting our names down for $2 a piece."

"What's it for?" asked Mike, suspiciously.

"Why," answered the man, considerably confused, "We're burying a policeman."

"Fine," said Mike. "Here's $10; go and bury five of 'em."

NEAR TO PENITENTIARY.

While Mike was running the place at 89 Dearborn street he became involved in an affair that put him in jail for three months and made the portals of the penitentiary loom up largely across his path. It looked for a time as if his career was about to be nipped in the young bud.

In 1869 Charles Goodwin, assistant cashier of the Chicago Dock Company, was found to be a defaulter to the extent of $30,000. He fled from Chicago and went to California, but in a few months came back and surrendered himself to the authorities.

He testified that McDonald had lured him into the game at 89 Dearborn street, where he had played and lost his money in a series of brace games that lasted during a period of several weeks. At first he lost a few hundred dollars, and he was persuaded to go back to the Dock company's office and get money out of the safe in order that he could return the next evening and win back the money he had lost.

He never won anything back, but kept getting in deeper. At length the poor, deluded victim was told to make a big haul and skip the town. He made a last pull at the strong box for $15,000 or $18,000, and his friends at 89 Dearborn street let him play one last farewell game, at which they took the trouble to see that the boy should not be bothered in his flight from justice by lugging a big bag full of money around with him.

CASE FINALLY "FIXED."

McDonald was arrested, and the Dock company also proceeded against him civilly, as it was not certain he could be held on a criminal charge owing to the guarded manner in which he had conducted his operation. McDonald was put under bail of $60,000, and, being unable to supply it, remained in jail for several months. Things were finally "fixed" all right, though. A few days before his trial he was released from jail, John Corcoran and Alderman Tom Foley going on his bail bond.

The trial was a farce. All the gamblers, "con" men, bunko steerers and strong-arm men in Chicago lined up in court and told how the defaulting clerk had begged to be permitted to play the brace game, with tears in his eyes, and that most of his money had been spent on wine, women and song. The jury solemnly declared McDonald innocent.

The expense of his trial on the charge of stealing the Dock company's $30,000 had made McDonald poor, and he had to get out and do a little "hustling." Soon after his release from the county jail John Donaldson, a California gambler and a high roller, made a winning in McDonald's place of $2,200 at poker. He took the money back to the hotel with him and was robbed of it and $500 besides before he had been in bed ten minutes.

A cracksman by the name of Travers was convicted of the crime.

Donaldson used to go to Joliet every day or two to interview Travers. Finally he came back from Joliet and never ate nor slept until he had run McDonald down. Tweaking his nose he shouted:

"Travers has confessed. You are a thief. You are a coward. Within twenty minutes after I was robbed you were dividing my $2,700 with Travers and his pal."

McDonald did not deny the charge or strike back at Donaldson, as the latter apparently hoped he would. Donaldson was a slight man, almost dead with consumption, but he was famous as a man killer, and while with one hand he tweaked McDonald's nose, the other hand was jammed down in his coat pocket, and McDonald knew that if he made a move or said a word he was a dead man.

Donaldson's hatred for McDonald became a mania with him. He was a doomed man, anyhow, and he wanted to kill McDonald before he went. So for the three years before death finally claimed him he would drag himself about the streets until he could stand in front of his enemy and slap him in the face and curse him, and beg him to raise his hand or say a word, or give him the slightest pretext for killing him. It was a great relief to McDonald when grim death finally claimed Donaldson.

RISES IN HIS PROFESSION.

After the fire McDonald opened a place on State street, in partnership with Nick Geary, a celebrated thief, who was subsequently killed in Philadelphia. McDonald next moved to the West Side, and was taken in by John Dowling, who gave him a third interest in his game in consideration of indemnity against police interference, McDonald's political star at this time being on the rise. The firm cleared $100,000 in less than a year.

About this time McDonald formed a partnership with Harry Lawrence and Morris Martin, and for four or five years they had supreme control of the bunko business. None others could work excepting those who took the trouble to see the firm of McDonald, Martin & Lawrence. Among the gang who worked under the protection of the firm were Tom Wallace, John Wallace, "Snitzer, the Kid," John Martin, "Snapper Johnny," "Kid Miller," "Sir James" Arlington, or Gannon, "Appetite Bill," and "Hungry Joe."