"Yes, indeed, I am a member of the (Catholic) church!"

"And where do you belong?"

"Why, in Syracuse, New York, of course."

Between us were two barriers of heavy steel wire netting, extending from the cold iron floor to the steel ceiling of the grim Cook county jail. It was a strangely weird scene that greeted my eyes in the long corridor that extends before the women's cells on the fifth floor of this steel-barred house of many tears. It was visitor's day. Friday, October 11th---and what a motley throng of visitors crowded those halls and corridors---the old and the young, the richly attired, the shabbily dressed. Some weeping in sadness---others laughing in assumed gladness, and all with faces close pressed to that cruel netting that so inexorably divided frail, wan mothers from wandering daughters; that separated little, crying children from mothers inside, whose eyes were tired and feverish, and whose painted blushes were unvarying.

It was all very garish under the steady, revealing electric lights that glowed above us, for outside the day was dark and gray and gloomy. The rain dripped wearily down the barred windows, even nature seemed weeping over the sorrows and down-fallings of her earth-children.

Yes, it was all some way very unreal, very pitiful, I thought of Poe's sad query: "Is all that we see or seem---is life but a dream within a dream?"

The air around me was filled with the insistent hum and murmur of hundreds of voices, punctuated now and again by a woman's harsh laughter or by some shrill voice raised in angry argument.

An obliging guard ushered me from the elevator into the corridor and said a few words to the matron in a low voice---then a voice called loudly, "Maud Wilbur---Visitor to see Maud Wilbur!"

There was a moment's hush---many eyes were gazed curiously, for all knew who Maud Wilbur was; the story of this bewitching girl-thief has claimed column after column in the city dailies, her beauty, her social attainments, her iron nerve, her prison record, her convent training, her stage career, her fashionable gowns,---all have been heralded from coast to coast. Then dimly back among the iron cells I saw a graceful figure approaching---just before me she paused and, raising her head, a pair of flashing dark eyes looked straight into mine. We were standing close together, so near that I could have put out my hand and touched her had it not been for that double wall of steel netting.

Even the wide and varied experience that fate has so kindly granted your correspondent did not save me from a touch of curious embarrassment.

Now I said in answer to the unspoken question in those brilliant eyes, "Mrs. Wilbur, I have come to talk with you as a friend. I am a newspaper man, it is true, but the newspaper I represent is rather different from any other, and if you will let them, our publishers and subscribers will help you---help you to that new and better life you told the State Attorney, Mr. Wayman, that you wanted a chance to live."

There was a pause. Maud Wilbur, alias Bessie

Patterson, alias, "The Ghost," glanced curiously at the other visitors upon either side of me, then gazing reflectively past me at the barred window where the gray light of day struggled feebly with the steady glow of the electrics, she spoke:---

"And so you are another newspaper man?" (Involuntarily I started---the voice was so womanly, so musical, and yet withal back of the cultured tones there was an indefinable harshness.) "And I have found that everything one says to a newspaper man is for publication. I have been advised not to discuss my case---no, I believe I have nothing to say."

This was far from encouraging---at least to the said "newspaper man." As she spoke I studied more carefully the noted (now notorious) woman, who in the last two years has robbed department stores in Chicago, New York, Cleveland, Philadelphia and other large cities of thousands of dollars in broad day-light. There stood before me a very young woman, scarcely more than a girl---twenty-one years old---innocent of face and dignified in bearing, fashionably gowned, attractive in personality, of medium height and perfect build, with masses of dark hair outlining a face rosy and pink and softly white. Large black eyes and lips slightly too thick,---such was the almost unbelievable picture.

"But remember, Mrs. Wilbur," I replied, "perhaps I did not come so much to get you to talk for my paper as to tell you something that may help you."

And so, little by little, with infinite tact, I led her along in the interview, much of which in justice to her I shall omit.

Maud Wilbur was brought to Chicago Wednesday, October 9th, from the Ohio state penitentiary at Columbus, where she had just finished serving a sentence of one year for robbery. Detective William Murnane of the state attorney's office here, and detectives

from McGuire & White's agency, arrested her as she stepped from the penitentiary door.

In Chicago she is charged with robbing Marshall Field & Co., Mandel Bros., The Fair, Siegel, Cooper & Co., Rothschild & Co., and Carson, Pirie, Scott & Co., from each of whom she is said to have stolen about one hundred dollars in cash.

Maud Wilbur's crimes have all been committed in big department stores. Because it seemed so long impossible to detect her, she was known among the store detectives and police of many large cities as "The Ghost." Here was the plan that she admits netted her many thousands of dollars within the last two years. Going into a big department store, dressed quietly, and in good taste, she would remove her hat and roll up her sleeves. Then selecting a cashier's desk at a time when the cashier was busy she would approach the window and say to the cashier, "I am from the main office, give me your cash---the main office wants the money."

As it is customary for sub-cashiers to send their money to the office many times a day, her plan never failed. After working Chicago stores she went to New York. She "secured" six hundred dollars from Wanamakers' on their opening day.

"The little scheme never failed me," she said, "one day I was in a store in Cleveland and saw a woman come to a cashier's desk and make this demand. I thought to myself, if it is so easy for that employee to get money this way, why not I?---

"I went to Philadelphia, as I happened to need money. I tried the scheme on, and got eight hundred dollars without a question being asked me!

"That was the beginning---then I went from city to city, working the same plan.

"I was caught in Cleveland and sent to the penitentiary for a year, of which I served ten months.

When I was released a Chicago officer was waiting at the prison door for me.

"Now I suppose I am in for another sentence."

Sentiments from the heart; when brought to Chicago Maud Wilbur uttered the following statements before State Attorney John E. Wayman, in his office, while pleading for a new chance to lead a better life, trying to escape the suffering of another prison sentence:---

"They say the wages of sin is death. I say the wages of sin is Hell---ten minutes in jail is ten minutes in Hell.

"The penitentiary is punishment enough for any crime, even murder.

"A woman who has been behind the bars in never able to obliterate the stain. Human vultures and parasites are always waiting to drag her down.

"As a young girl I had everything I wanted. I was spoiled.

"I loved good clothes and finery. I began stealing from the stores. I would slip clothing and little articles under my clothes or into my handbag; I would send cash-girls on an errand and take the contents of the register.

"A girl who once goes to prison never is able to get the taint of the prison away from her."

Maud Wilbur is the daughter of a Syracuse, New York, family of high social standing. She steadily refused to reveal her family's name, or in any way drag them into her case.

Maud Wilbur is a convent-trained girl, a graduate of the "Sacred Heart Academy," in Ottawa, Canada, and told me with her own lips yesterday that she is still a good Catholic!

As I stepped from the elevator I saw a poorly

dressed mother standing in a corner on the first floor of the jail holding by the hand a little girl who snuggled close to the mother, crying softly. A hurrying crowd of belated visitors thronged the lower halls.

Across the street I paused upon the corner and looked back at the great, gray jail building looming large among the shadows.

And again I thought sadly, "Ah! poor, beautiful, crushed girl-thief, how blindly you are following the crooked education of a crooked religion, and but a few years---then what? From a crook's cell to a crook's nameless grave! Or shall some kindly, powerful hand yet save Maud Wilbur, devotee of a false idol-worship? God grant it!"

Chicago, Oct. 12, 1912.

My Dear Mr. Buss;---
The following is the story of Alice B____, relating to her experience in the Bank street and Price Hill convents. Miss B____ is now twenty-four years old, but still shudders with horror and her large hazel eyes sparkle with anger and indignation when the word "convent" is mentioned to her.

"I was sent to the 'Sisters of Mercy' (then on Fourth street, now on Freeman avenue), when nine years old by my mother who paid my board while there. My mother continued to pay my board for two years, but met with financial reverses and fell behind in her payments for one month. This was the

beginning of my sorrow. One day the 'Sister' in charge told me to put on my hat and go to the millinery store for a new hat, with one of the nineteen-year-old girls, whom I afterward found to be only a 'stool pigeon.' A 'stool pigeon' is one of the larger girls who acts as a spy and assists the nuns in punishing the other girls---her pay: good meals, favors, etc.

"I was given a large hat-box to carry, which seemed to be very heavy. We started for the "millinery store,' which proved to my sorrow to be the Bank Street Convent! When we entered the convent I noticed a small opening in the wall, which I afterwards learned was for the purpose of holding conversation with parents or friends---that is, for the very few who were so fortunate as to be permitted to do so.

"When we entered, the door was immediately locked behind us and then I realized what was in store for me; and sitting down, broken with grief, I was inconsolable. The hat-box I had been carrying contained my scant wearing apparel!

"At first I was treated well to quiet me and was given the name of 'Little Alice,' as I was the smallest girl there. I have read the story of 'Celelia' in The Menace by you, Mr. Buss, and Oh, the memory of it all! Those horrible daily tasks and the cruelties as told by Cecelia are but too true!

"After being in this convent one year my troubles began. I was then twelve years old. My daily task was to crochet two shawls. Failing in this I was deprived of all recreation and my supper!

"I was often compelled to kneel before the statue of the 'blessed virgin' for one hour while crocheting, then if I did not repent and say that I was sorry, I was compelled to remain on my knees until I did say so! I was transferred later to the laundry, where I worked on an old fashioned ironing machine which

we called 'the mangle,' because so many girls caught their hands in it----mangling them. I remember one deaf and dumb girl who had both hands caught in it and being unable to cry out she remained with her hands mashed up in this old machine until one of the girls saw her writhing in pain, literally hanging by her hands!

"At times the tablecloths and sheets would become entangled in this horrible machine, and we were punished because of the machine's defects. I had my hair cut off at one time for this! The 'sister' in charge now took a violent dislike to me because I was impudent and fought to save my hair and she transferred me to the packing room. I asked to be sent back to make shawls, but was punished for this by being compelled to kneel in a tank of cold water! They tried to make me immerse my head, which I would not do---two of the nuns and three 'stool pigeons' jumped on me and tried to force my head under water, but I bit 'Sister' Lawrence on the hand and they became afraid of me.

"'Sister' Lawrence had charge of the packing room. A girl was passing with a bucket of whey from sour milk when this 'sister' seized it and threw it on me. She also sent for three buckets of water and threw these on me. After this ordeal I was sent upstairs and forced to put on a dress striped like work-house clothes.

"One New Year's day I was shooting a little pop gun, which belonged to one of the smaller girls, and the 'sister' in charge of the room was scolding me when the 'superior' came in. She took me out and cut my hair off, leaving it in notches all over my head, then she locked me in the dungeon under the cellar steps, in which I was kept all day. 'Happy New Year!' But many of the girls were locked up in this dirty hole for a week at a time!

"A little girl called Antona was often locked up in the dungeon because she resented the awful treatment and cruel punishment meted out to her. While in the Bank Street Convent we were told to pray for the new building on Price Hill, but most of said we would pray God to destroy both the old and the new prison houses of the 'Good Shepherd!'

"But it was obvious that these latter prayers were not said aloud, still the 'Father heareth in secret.'

"My father died on the sixth day of January, 1903, and I was never told about it while there! I made my escape from this convent on the tenth day of January, 1903, jumping from a one and one half story window, and spraining my back. Then I climbed over a high board fence which had sharp spikes set along the top. I walked along the stone wall to some steps, went into the black yard where I climbed a tree and reached the top of the high outer wall. I was afraid to jump because my back hurt so. I called and whistled until a little dog barked at me and two young men came and told me to jump into their arms, which I did, but I slipped through their arms and fell on the ground in a heap. Then the men had an argument with what they should do with me. One of them was intoxicated and wanted to return me to the 'sisters,' but I begged so pitifully and told all about their cruel treatment, so the other would not let him take me back. The employer of the drunken man then came and said he would take care of me, but his wife would not let me stay at their home, so he took me to a friend, Mr. H., who sheltered me for two months, until I was able to secure a position and to work. When I visited my grandmother and learned about my father's death, she said she had sent me a letter telling me all about it, but the 'sisters' never gave their prisoners mail nor allowed them to send any letters, unless dictated by themselves. Grand-

"The following are a few of the many forms of punishment inflicted upon the poor unfortunate girls given into the care of these fiends. A girl by the name of Elinore had her fingernails cut completely off, because she took a pink ribbon which was the property of another girl to tie up her hair!

"When asking the 'sisters' for anything we had to kneel on the floor in front of them and say, 'Sister, please,----' and when she raised her head we had to kiss the floor and ask the question, remaining on our knees until she answered. A 'stool pigeon' forty years old was in a certain place, which was in the yard, and one of the girls wishing to enter asked her to open the gate, which was of iron pickets. The 'stool pigeon' told her she wouldn't let her in until the 'sister' told her she could talk---(at the time all of the girls were forbidden to speak for an hour.)---the girl, Marie by name, was climbing over the gate when the 'stool pigeon' pushed her so hard that she fell on the top of the gate, one of the pickets entering her thigh, and she hung on the gate for at least fifteen minutes, until some men were secured who lifted her off bodily! Poor Marie screamed and cried so that the other girls tried to mob the 'stool pigeon.'

"A common form of punishment is to tie the girls' hands behind her back and then force her to eat off the floor.

"The 'sister' who cut my hair off later rebelled. She became tired of her wretched existence, she was excommunicated, and is now married and has two children.

"Some of the girls were held under cold water for punishment during their periods of illness and contracted tuberculosis and were sent to the 'Branch Hospital'---where these poor unfortunates died!

"We were told all kinds of stories about a fast life, and how finally we could dress if we only belonged to the class of girls of easy morals. As a result of this teaching most of the girls who were so fortunate to get out---many never do get out alive!----go down to George or Longworth streets and live the lowest kind of life. I can name fifty girls or more who went there from these two 'Good Shepherd' convents, and if a census of this district were taken ninety-five percent would be found Catholics!"

(Signed in the presence of witnesses:---)

"ALICE B_____."

Chapter 13