The San Francisco call., 1895-11-02
DURRANT'S DEATH IS DECREED.

words of comfort to the mother, an en-
couraging pat to the son, a look of SYM
pathy and understanding for the father
was all the comfort they could give.
Durrant knew that there was an ordeal
coming when the jury went out-an ordeal
the more dreadful to bear because he did
not know whether it would last five min
utes. an hour, day or several days. You
could see him braoing up and straighten-
ing his shoulders for his term on the rack,
and when the torture actually began he
was strong and able to bear it.
This waiting, unable to help or hinder,
while somewhere twelve men are making
up their minds whether a human being
shall live or die is the climax of every
murder trial. Many men have endured it
before that same Judge, but not one OF
them bore it as Durrant did. saw an
other young man, not as old as Durrant,
wait nearly an hour for what he and
every body else knew was his sentence to
death. He was an artist, who had mur-
dered bis schoolgirl sweetheart, man as
hot-biooded as Durrant is cold, as imagin-
ative as Durrant is unimpressionable, as
vicious as he, perhaps, but still human.
And there was something about his de-
meanor during this hideous hour that
came back as / watched Durrant.
There was the same air OF sullen realiza-
ton OF his powcrlcssnes., the same deter
mination to show no sign Of fear or suffer
ing, the same endeavor to stare down any
pair of eyes whose too bold glnnces met
his own. Goldenson's mother also sat be-
side her boy in his supreme hour. But
her recognition of the fact that the rest oil
the world counted her son as a devil who
must be removed from the face of the
earth was very different from that of the
birdliks little woman who sat behind
Theodore Durrant in Judge Murphy ,.
court yesterday.
Mrs. Durrant had apparently recovered
from her breakdown of the day before, and
as the minutes passed by her hope grew
and she began to talk. Durrant answered
her gently, but did not say great deal.
The women about her felt the hope COM
municating to them, and she and they
spoke brokenly together.
The courtroom was deathly still, though
the Judge was not upon the bench and
there was no visible restraint. When peo-
pie moved, they moved on tiptoe; when
they spoke, they spoke in whispers. There
were a hundred women and girls in that
attendance where there should not have
been one, for the strain was not ono to
which a woman should have been sub
jected. They had on their gayest dresse.
ana their prettiest bonnets, and the look,
they cast on the hapless group were cold
and curious. They had no business there.
1t did not seem so bad when the LAWYERS
were talking, for the women had right to
be interested in the eloquence of the de-
bate for the murderer's life. But when the
talking was done and the CHASTITY business
of the day was on, it was dreadful to think
of these ladies waiting with the men to
hear even Durrant's doom. Most of them
seemed to have some perception OF the
feeling. They were awed into unconscious
ness of each others fnery. But curiosity
kept them there until the last.
Presently Durrant's glances stole
toward the clock. Hardly five minutes
had passed dnce the jury had gone out
but it must have seemed hours to him
He tried TO join in the small talk that was
going on about him, but the effort was toe
much. The strain was telling. Gradually
he became silent, and he slipped dowr
into his chair until his head was pillowed
upon the back and his eyes looked at the
ceiling Then his eyes closed and for sew.
eral minutes he lay there as if asleep
And his mother, as silent as he, held his
| hand and looked with dry eyes at the
empty jury-box. The father sat like mar
| in q dream.
People forgot all about the jury in thei.