Waterbury Democrat., 1902-09-27
STOLE MILK FOR SICK WIFE.
She Died After He Was Convicted of
 That OffanSa


 New York, Sept Standing beside the coffin of his wife yestcr!:.y .Jon,1 >Moore looked long into the cold face. Then he glanced furtyely at the two prison keepers who stood beside hin,. They turned their hea,is away. All their years at Blackwell's Island hadn't hardened them entirely.
 Mary" said Moore, as if the cof- fined woman could hear and under stand, Mary, was bad Yes, dear you know that. But, Mary, the only time l ever stole was to save you. The doctor said you had to have milk. I didn't have the"money to buy it. So I stole it. And here I am, with the cops alongside me and you, Mary, looking up at me like that!'
 All his misery and se1f-reproach poured out to those ears that never again would hear, had that one pitt full little basis of fact A doctor said to him (that was five weeks agol, Your wife is likely to die Her only chance for life is in a nourishing diet. She must have plenty of fresh milk every day.
 John Moore listened and almost laughed. Plenty of fresh milk every day? Oh, yes, that sounded easy, but where was he to get it? He had no money, no work. He looked at the woman lying there. If ever the near ness of death was written on a face, his Mary's face bore that message.
 But another message was there, too. It spelled appeal. She had heard what the doctor said about milk. She could not speak except at the cost of great pain, but as she looked up into her husbands eyes he could read the in quiry, Wont you get me the milk, John?"
 John Moore, penniless went into the street from his shabby home in No 26S West Twenty-first street. A few cents would satisfy that little desire of his wife. but he did not have those coppers A jar of milk stood on doorstep. He thought of how little that milk meant to the neighbor and how much it meant to would end only in the chill of the grave.
 We'll, he stole the milk. There is no question of that. Worse he was seen to steal it. He was taken from his wife's bedside by a policeman. "she got her drink, anyway" he said deli antly 7 The last drop of the milk fell to the floor with the shattered glass, as she sat up in bed crying, "Jack! What have you done?
 Magistrate Cornell, an hour later, listened to the story of the theft. Moore mumbled his tale. Cornell might have pitied him, ordinarily, but there was plenty of evidence that this man was a ne'er-do-well, indeed, user of morphine. So off to the Island went John Moore.
 Through what miserable straits the wife passed after that may be guessed. Neighbors looked after her as best they could, being poor folk themselves. But always her wall was for her John-her John, who had taken the sup Of mix Tor her. She still was muttering over the story of his unforgivable crime when she died two days ago.
 Maloney, the undertaken, said he'd bury her even if he never got cent for it. The sad-faced women of the tenement said, ssBut her man ought to be here.'' Maloney sought Commis- sioner Hines of the correction depart ment. The man listened. Then he made out an order permitting one John Moore to be brought from the Island.
 So yesterday a man came over on boat and crossed the town, and entered l house where bit of crape hung from i door knob. He went into a room where face looked up at him from ,offin-a face that bore nothing of re- oroach, only the sweet stiffness of 1eath.
 And John Moore, the thief of milk, 'ell on his knees and clutched at the black pail and cried, Mary, Mary!' He did not go back to the Island. He vas put in the Jefferson Market court prison for the night. He may be set rec to-day.
 q think he's suffered enough, said Hines, simply.