The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1885-02-20
BECKY JONES in JAIL.
How the Obstinate Housekeeper Has Stood
Her Thirty-Three Weeks I'M
prisOnment

|
Her Thirty-Three Weeks I'M
prisonment.
| 1t is tbirty-three weeks to-day since
Miss Becky Jones, the obstinate house
keeper CT the late Mr.. Hamersley. hav-
ing been adjudged guilty of contempt
of court for refusing to tell all she
knew about her late employer, was
sent to Ludlow street jail She was
put in room about twelve feet square,
on the first floor, just off the dining
room. The single iron-barred window
faces on Essex market place, which is
kept alive by the soul-stirring impre-
cations of butchers, the screams and
cries of children, and the occasional
bowling of half starved dogs and cats.
Miss Jones hung neat white curtain
over the window and then examined
the bed. 1t Mortified her, and she
made life entertaining for Warden
Phil Herman until she got things fixed.
He moved in marble top bureau
adorned with mirror, and gave her
large piece of carpet and two chairs.
The first week Becky kept closely to
her room and was seen only at meal
times She said she was ill, and the
warden never passed drug store for
few days after that without buying
bottle of patent medicine for her.
Becky got well, and the warden
claimed the credit of ii.
Finally Becky got settled down IN a
humdrum method of passing the days,
and seldom varies from it. She locks
her door about 10 o'clock at night. If
she is not very sleepy she draws her
bedstead under the gas light, and lies
in bed reading novel or tract, If
she happens to have one that draws
happy parallel between a really
good and very bad boy. She never
forgets to turn off the gas before drop
ping into sleep.
She is up about daylight, and tramps
steadily about the circular yard in the
center OF the jail for half an hour.
Then she uses up considerable wcrsted
in making tides until breakfast is
ready. Breakfast is passed in kindly
vie with each other in helping Becky
to bread. AS soon as the meal is over
Becky returns to her room and writes
several pages of her book, which will
tell the world all about her troubles.
Then she reads a little, uses up little
more worsted, and receives as many
of her friends as call upon her. She
has become attached to her home now,
the only thing she dislikes about it is
the name it bears.
Warden Herman met a reporter at
the door of the jail on Sunday and
told him that Becky had issued orders
short time previously to have the
first reporter that came along sent to
her. Becky sat near the window in a
black Alpaca dress. A little wooden
trunk stood near the bureau. The top
of the bureau was neatly covered with
white tides, on which rested stubby
black jug, with flat sides and small
neck. The jug was painted black,
and was stuck all over with little
cupids in green and gold, and these
letters: Been"
They stand for Becca," said Becky.
as she shook the reporters hand. II
was going to make it Rebecca, which
is my name, but couldn't find any
thing to cut the r and G out of. Sit
down over there while tell YOU what
l wanted to see you for.
'sIt's about Aid. Farley" she said.
"He has been flirting with me in aw-
ful. | told him if he did not stop COM
ing in here I'd tell the reporters about
him now I'm going to do it. He comes
around and sits where you are sitting
now, and goes on hor-rid. He brought
his picture around here and gave it to
me. Here it is.
Becky showed the reporter photo
graph of the alderman with his smile
and watch chain complete. 1t was
hanging in dark part of the room.
Becky pointed to row of blue labels
which were pasted on one side of the
window casing.
Il paste one of these up there at the
end of every week." she said. II
have thirty-three there now, but the
thirtv-third week will not end until !
Monday night. am willing to end my
life here, and if the price of my re-
lease is to tell all know about poor
dear Mr.. Hamersley l shall certainly |
die here. They say am obstinate. If
am | suppose it is because | was
born so near the Fourth of July"
.Have you any hope of release?"
"William H. Shepherd is my lawyer,
and believe he is doing something |
for me. am contented here, and |
don't much care. Everybody is kind
to me. The Rev. Mr. Morgan, who
breaches here on Sundays, sent me
Christmas card, and so did his mother.
Somebody else sent me book full of
prayers and a card full of verses. I've
an awful lot of novels sent me, too,
and such an awful lot of letters. You'd
be surprised if l showed you some Of
them, but won't though
II should think you'd get a cat or
dog, Miss Jones, for company"
'.Pooh! l hate them. ."-NeU York
Sun.