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 Learning Advanced Python by
Studying Open Source Projects
This book is one of its own kind. It is not an encyclopedia or a hands-on tutorial that traps
readers in the tutorial hell. It is a distillation of just one common Python user’s learn-
ing experience. The experience is packaged with exceptional teaching techniques, careful
dependence unraveling and, most importantly, passion.
Learning Advanced Python by Studying Open Source Projects helps readers overcome the
difficulty in their day-to-day tasks and seek insights from solutions in famous open source
projects. Different from a technical manual, this book mixes the technical knowledge, real-
world applications and more theoretical content, providing readers with a practical and
engaging approach to learning Python.
Throughout this book, readers will learn how to write Python code that is efficient,
readable and maintainable, covering key topics such as data structures, algorithms, object-
oriented programming and more. The author’s passion for Python shines through in
this book, making it an enjoyable and inspiring read for both beginners and experienced
programmers.

Rongpeng Li (Ron) is a YouTube educator and animator. He has a consistent passion for
education. He has published two books on statistics and scientific simulation.
Chapman & Hall/CRC
The Python Series

About the Series

Python has been ranked as the most popular programming language, and it is widely used
in education and industry. This book series will offer a wide range of books on Python
for students and professionals. Titles in the series will help users learn the language at an
introductory and advanced level, and explore its many applications in data science, AI, and
machine learning. Series titles can also be supplemented with Jupyter notebooks.

Image Processing and Acquisition using Python, Second Edition

Ravishankar Chityala, Sridevi Pudipeddi
Python Packages
Tomas Beuzen and Tiffany-Anne Timbers
Statistics and Data Visualisation with Python
Jesús Rogel-Salazar
Introduction to Python for Humanists
William J.B. Mattingly
Python for Scientific Computation and Artificial Intelligence
Stephen Lynch
Learning Professional Python
Usharani Bhimavarapu and Jude D. Hemanth
Learning Advanced Python by Studying Open Source Projects
Rongpeng Li

For more information about this series please visit: https://www.crcpress.com/Chapman--

HallCRC/book-series/PYTH
Learning Advanced Python by
Studying Open Source Projects

Rongpeng Li
Cover image: Rongpeng Li

First edition published 2024

by CRC Press
2385 Executive Center Drive, Suite 320, Boca Raton, FL 33431

and by CRC Press

4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN

CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

© 2024 Rongpeng Li

Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the author and publisher cannot
assume responsibility for the validity of all materials or the consequences of their use. The authors and publishers
have attempted to trace the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize to
copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained. If any copyright material has not been
acknowledged please write and let us know so we may rectify in any future reprint.

Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or
utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written
permission from the publishers.

For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, access www.copyright.com or contact the
Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. For works that are
not available on CCC please contact [email protected]

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks and are used only for
identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Li, Rongpeng, author.
Title: Learning advanced Python from open source projects / Rongpeng Li.
Description: Boca Raton, FL : CRC Press, 2024. | Series: Chapman & Hall/CRC
the Python series | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023024040 (print) | LCCN 2023024041 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781032328164 (paperback) | ISBN 9781032328188 (hardback) |
ISBN 9781003316909 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Python (Computer program language) | Open source software.
Classification: LCC QA76.73.P98 L49 2024 (print) | LCC QA76.73.P98
(ebook) | DDC 005.13/3—dc23/eng/20230725
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023024040
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023024041

ISBN: 978-1-032-32818-8 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-32816-4 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-31690-9 (ebk)

DOI: 10.1201/9781003316909

Typeset in Minion
by codeMantra
 To Yan, the brightest light in my life.
To my family, whose decisions made my life today possible.
To Holly and Prosper, the endless source of joy in the room.
Contents

Preface, x
Acknowledgments, xi

IntroductIon 1
PURPOSE AND SCOPE OF THIS BOOK 1
OVERVIEW OF THE APPROACH TAKEN 3
NOTE 4

C
A GENTLE INTRODUCTION TO PYTHON’S DATA MODEL 5
CUSTOMIZED COMPARISON 7
A MANAGED ITERATION BEHAVIOR 12
ATTRIBUTES, FUNCTION OR DICTIONARY? 16
SUMMARY 20
NOTES 20

C
INTRODUCTION 21
DESCRIPTORS AND ATTRIBUTE LOOKUP ORDER 21
Descriptor Demystified 21
Lazy Evaluation in Matplotlib 25
METACLASS AND ITS USAGE IN ELASTICSEARCH DSL 30
Understanding Metaclass Using Meta-Recipe 30
Use Metaclass to Model Documents in Elasticsearch DSL 35
SUMMARY 40
APPENDIX 40
NOTES 41
viii   ◾    Contents

C
CONCURRENCY FROM A TOP-DOWN PERSPECTIVE 42
Operating System and Concurrency 45
Introducing Global Interpreter Lock (GIL) 47
MULTIPROCESSING FOR CPU BOUND TASKS 48
Parallel Pandas Apply in pandarallel 52
MULTITHREADING FOR I/O BOUND TASKS 58
SUMMARY 63
NOTES 63

C
A SHIFT OF PARADIGM 64
EVENT-DRIVEN SIMULATION 65
ASYNC AS A PATTERN 71
SUMMARY 75
APPENDIX 75
NOTES 76

C
INTRODUCTION 77
THE DECORATOR FOR RETRYING A FUNCTION 77
CONTEXT MANAGER IN A NUTSHELL 81
DIVE INTO THE AIOSQLITE EXAMPLE 84
Connection as an Executor and a Scheduler 85
Connection and Cursor as Async Context Managers 88
SUMMARY 93
NOTES 93

C
UNDERSTAND YOUR BUSINESS 94
A Quick Overview of the Business 95
MODEL THE BUSINESS ENTITIES WITH OOP 97
Design the Core Entities 97
Establish the Relationship between Classes 100
The Benefits of Universal interface 104
Sometimes No OOP is the Best Design 106
 Contents   ◾    ix

SUMMARY 108
NOTES 108

C
INTRODUCTION 109
FIXTURE AND PARAMETERIZATION 109
Parameterization 111
Resources and Fixture 113
MONKEY PATCH 115
Modify the Built-in Print 115
More Powerful Monkey Patching 117
PROPERTY-BASED TEST 118
SUMMARY 122
NOTES 122

INDEX, 123
Preface

I am very excited and happy to present this book to you.

This book is somewhat like my previous two books. Not because they share similar
topics, but because I wrote it with a vivid image of readers in my mind. In my opinion, a
book like this should have existed long before: there are tons of great open source Python
projects, and there are a lot of people who find it hard to learn advanced Python topics. It is
natural to have a book that seamlessly bridges the golden resources and the hungry learn-
ers. This book is it. When I tried to learn from the pros, I did it the hard way by bashing
my head and absorbing much-alike materials from 20 browser tabs. Looking back, I think
there are better ways to do it: an educational and instructional way. My experience as an
instructor helped me a lot in writing this book: I am able to put my feet in the learners’
shoes.
I am very grateful to the editors at Taylor & Francis who helped me identify and con-
firmed the value of this approach. I hope you find this experimental approach educational,
accessible and entertaining.

x
Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the creators, maintainers and all contributors to the open source
projects I used as examples in this book.
It is unimaginable if those amazing resources are not freely accessible to me and to
everyone around the globe. The open source movement has astronomically impacted not
only the software engineering but also the advance of technology universally.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

xi
Introduction

PURPOSE AND SCOPE OF THIS BOOK

Learning Advanced Python by Studying Open Source Projects is a book that is written for
95% of Python users, covering 95% of their daily use cases.
What does this mean?
From the content perspective, it means that this book is not an encyclopedia that covers
everything. It covers all the important things for most Python users.
Based on my observations and research, the following topics are considered important:

1. The Python data model

3. Concurrency and asynchronous programming

4. Functions and related tips
5. How to design an OOP system

They are important in different ways.

1. The Python data model and Python classes are fundamentally important as they are
the basics to learn everything else. They are basic but they are not obviously easy to
master. Many Python users, or most Python users didn’t graduate with a computer
science master’s degree. They started using Python by copying and pasting so long as
the code worked. At some point in their learning or career path, the lack of founda-
tion will bite. I want to solidify your foundations.
2. The other four topics are deemed as a gap between so-so engineers and more pro-
fessional engineers. I picked these four because they are the ones that I find easy to
break the cyclic dependencies of the advanced topics. For example, it is impossible
to talk about concepts like fixture without talking about decorators first. It is hard

DOI: 10.1201/9781003316909-1 1
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As Marion lay on her cot she had ample time to think, and there
were many subjects just now that were clamoring for attention. Here
they were, she and Dollie, in the great city of New York, without
friends or money, except what their own efforts brought to them.
Still, through these very efforts she had already accomplished a
little.
Her first triumph has been in saving her sister from a villain’s
clutches; another, the heroic act of saving a life, had brought her
sufficient money to pay off the mortgage on the old homestead in
the country and so save her parents from a home at the Poor Farm.
But aside from these bright spots, it had been all sorrow and
suffering, but Marion had hoped it was all over when Dollie secured
the position in Lawyer Atherton’s office, and she, herself, was
accepted as a nurse in Charity Hospital.
Miss Allyn had fitted up a cosy little flat in Harlem and taken Dollie to
live with her, and Miss Allyn was so wise and so fond of the girl,
Marion’s heart was full of gratitude toward the noble woman.
“Oh, Dollie, my poor, weak sister!” she whispered to herself, “why is
it you cannot learn to trust those who are wiser than you? Have you
not had bitterness enough already in your young life, but that you
must persist in wilfully inviting more sorrow?”
It was a happy moment when Mr. Ray and his sister were
announced. They were the first friends she had made in the city, but
they had been abroad almost from the week they met, and their
homecoming brought a pleasure that was most wonderfully sweet
and consoling.
“Miss Marlowe! Marion!” cried Adele Ray, as she clasped Marion in
her arms. “How glad I am to see you again, but how unutterably
unpleasant to find you in a hospital!”
“As brave as ever, I hear,” were Archie Ray’s first words, as he
extended both hands and grasped the girl’s slim fingers.
Marion gazed from one to the other in eager delight.
“Oh, I am so happy!” she murmured over and over, “and I am going
home to-morrow, so you will not have to see me here again, Adele. I
know it must have been a shock to you to see me in a hospital.”
The two girls chatted together, while Archie Ray looked on. He was a
tall, handsome young man, with dark, pleading eyes, and possessed
a charmingly aristocratic manner.
He had been deeply in love with Marion before he went abroad, and
now, when he saw her again, all the old tenderness came back to
him, and he longed almost uncontrollably to press her to his bosom.
But if Marion read his thoughts, she did not show it by so much as a
glance. There was an open cordiality in her manner that baffled him
completely.
Suddenly Adele Ray’s face grew clouded in the midst of their talking.
It was evident to Marion that she was thinking of something
unpleasant.
“Oh, Marion, dear, I want you to help us,” she said, slowly. “We have
a terrible secret for your ears, but it has to be told, and the sooner
the better. We want you to do us a favor, my brother and I, and, oh,
Marion, dear, do give us your sympathy!”
She looked so distressed that Marion’s cheeks grew pale, but she
took Miss Ray’s hand and held it tightly.
Archie Ray bit his lips and his face clouded a little. He had been
momentarily dreading this particular moment, for he knew what was
coming and would almost have given his life to have prevented it.
“I will help you gladly,” Marion whispered quickly. “There is nothing
you would ask that I would not willingly promise.”
The fair girl little realized the blow which she was about to receive,
else she could hardly have smiled as bravely as she did at that
minute.
Adele Ray leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and as
Marion listened her cheeks grew as pale as death itself.
“Is it possible?” she murmured, in a far-away voice, and then her
wavering eyes met the glance of Adele Ray’s brother.
The sadness in those dark eyes went straight to Marion’s heart. In
an instant her own grief was put aside and she was willing to bear
anything for this fond, noble brother.
As she answered Adele’s appeal, she still looked at her brother and
the words, “I will do it,” were said to him. To him she had given her
sacred, secret promise.

CHAPTER VI.
MARION’S STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
It was Reginald Brookes who sent a carriage for Marion on the day
that she was allowed to leave the Chambers St. Hospital to return
for a few days to the little flat in Harlem.
Through some mysterious medium he had heard of Mr. Ray and was
determined if possible to outdo his rival in kind attentions to Marion.
“I’ll never stoop to anything but a fair fight,” he said to his mother,
“and as this Mr. Ray is a gentleman, I have no doubt but that he is
honorable. She must choose between us; when she does I shall be
satisfied.”
“You are as noble as you are sensible, my son,” was his mother’s
fond answer, “and Miss Marlowe is not the girl, I am sure, to be
fickle in her decision.”
When Dr. Brookes reached the little flat to welcome Marion back
from the hospital, he found Dollie and Miss Allyn much worried.
“Marion should have been here at five o’clock,” said Dollie, half
crying. “Miss Allyn telephoned and learned that she left the hospital
at four, and now just look, it is nearly seven!”
“Something must have happened!” said Miss Allyn, soberly, “but how
shall we find out, that is the question, doctor?”
Dr. Brookes paced the floor in the greatest consternation. He looked
at his watch repeatedly, and seemed to be figuring something.
Suddenly a sharp ring of the bell made their hearts beat wildly.
Dollie rushed out in the hall and came face to face with Bert
Jackson.
“You are all scared to death about Marion, aren’t you?” he began,
abruptly; “well, you needn’t worry, she’ll probably be here in a
minute! There was a drunken woman fighting in the street down
town and of course Marion had to stop and take a hand in the
scrimmage. Oh! I don’t mean that she did any of the scrapping!” he
explained as he saw their astonished faces, “but she just put a stop
to the row and then hauled that woman into her cab and took her to
her home, and that’s what has detained her!”
“It’s just like Marion!” cried Dollie, laughing.
“It was dreadful risky,” said Miss Allyn, shaking her head.
“It is awful!” cried Dr. Brookes, almost frantic as he thought of it.
“Why, the girl will be robbed or killed if she doesn’t stop doing for
such common people!”
“You ought to have seen her,” said Bert, who was bristling with
admiration. “There was a big crowd all around the woman, who was
dancing and yelling, and just as the carriage drove by a policeman
charged into the crowd and was going to grab the woman when she
jabbed a hat pin into him. Wow! but you ought to have heard him
howl! The mob gave him the laugh and that made him madder, and
in a jiffy he yanked his club out of his belt and made a lunge at her
—and he’d have knocked her silly if it hadn’t been for Marion!”
“What did she do?” asked Dollie, breathlessly.
“Do! Why, she just threw open the carriage door and stood on the
step; then her voice rang out like a silver bugle as she cried: ‘Don’t
you dare to strike that woman, officer! Shame on you, you brute! I
will report your conduct!’”
“And then what happened?” asked Miss Allyn, excitedly.
“Then the ‘cop’ fell back and looked ashamed of himself, and Marion
jumped down from the carriage and started for the woman and the
crowd made way for her as though she was an empress—and she
didn’t look unlike one, either, you bet, for her head was up in the air
and her eyes just shot sparks at them! Oh, Marion just knocked
them speechless! I tell you she is a dandy!”
“Go on with your story!” said Dr. Brookes, still anxiously. “I want to
know exactly what happened after that.”
“Why, Marion got hold of the woman and coaxed her to the carriage
and when the woman told her where she lived she ordered the
driver to go there and my! how the crowd yelled when they drove
off together.”
“Then there is no knowing where she is now?” said Dr. Brookes,
hastily. “The brave girl may have been imposed upon by the drunken
woman! Have you any idea what address she gave her?”
Bert Jackson looked crestfallen for about a minute, then a ray of joy
illumined his features.
“I wasn’t near enough to hear the address,” he said, quickly. “You
see, I was riding by with my adopted father, and it was only by a
good bit of coaxing that I made him let me off, but a man in the
crowd told me that the woman was May Osgood, and that she was
an actress from some theatre or other.”
“Great Heavens! Greenaway’s sweetheart!” cried Reginald Brookes,
“and drunk on the street!”
As the others were staring at him, he hastened to explain, and
before he had finished another peal of the bell startled them.
“This is surely Marion!” cried Dollie, darting down the stairs.
But once more she was doomed to bitter disappointment, for half
way down the first flight she met Mr. Ray and his sister, both pale as
ghosts, and Adele almost crying.
“Oh, what is it?” gasped Dollie, who thought only of her sister. “Has
anything happened? Have you heard from Marion?”
Not even Miss Allyn thought to introduce the two gentlemen, but
without a moment’s hesitation Mr. Ray stepped straight up to the
doctor.
“You and Bert must come with me right away!” he said, quickly.
“Miss Marlowe has been inveigled into an awful trap, and it depends
on us to get her out of it!”
“I’m ready!” cried Bert, clenching his fists and setting his teeth.
“Lead the way!” said Dr. Brookes, snatching up his hat immediately.
“Have you a revolver?” was Mr. Ray’s astonishing question.
Miss Allyn rushed to her trunk and brought out a small weapon.
“I keep it for burglars; it’s better than nothing,” she said, briefly;
“but how about the police? Can’t they aid you in this matter?”
“They would only bungle it,” was Mr. Ray’s evasive reply. “Marion has
been lured into the apartments of a wicked woman and while I do
not fear that she will meet with bodily harm——”
Miss Allyn interrupted him before he could finish.
“Go, at once!” she said, quickly, “we will be calm and wait for you.”
As the three young men tramped noisily down the stairs, poor,
frightened Dollie went promptly into hysterics.
“Hush! Don’t cry, Dollie!” said Miss Allyn, sternly. “If those three
young men who love Marion cannot save her, I shall be greatly
mistaken; besides, if you cry so you will not be able to hear what
Miss Ray tells me, and I am sure you wish to know what has
happened to your sister!”
Dollie stifled her sobs, and wiped her eyes.
In a few moments she was quiet and ready to listen.
“I’ll tell you all I know as quickly as possible,” Adele Ray said,
brokenly; “and Oh, girls, I want your sympathy for my poor, dear
brother!”

CHAPTER VII.
A BROTHER’S STORY.
Adele Ray was as pale as death when she spoke again, but her
hands were clenched in a resolute manner.
She was a woman of twenty-five, whose life had been a sad one,
and her handsome face was marred by lines of grief and bitterness.
In a low, vibrating voice she told her story, making it as brief as
possible so as not to distress them.
“My dear brother has had a bitter experience,” she said, “for, like
many a thoughtless youth he became enamored with a young girl
while he was a boy at college, and without any of us knowing it he
made her his wife. She was a vain, silly creature, who looked like a
big wax doll, and in less than a year Archie discovered that she was
faithless. He left her at once, but made her a generous allowance—
he had money of his own, and no one asked him to account for it.
One more year passed and he heard that the girl was dead—he took
pains to prove it and considered the reports verified. Meanwhile not
one of his family knew it. When he came home from college he was
only twenty, and to think, my brother thought himself a widower.”
There were tears running down her face as she paused for a
moment. Dollie had forgotten to weep, she was so interested in the
story.
“It was in London, six weeks ago, that the awful revelations
occurred,” she went on after a minute. “Archie and I were walking
together on the Strand one day when all of a sudden he gripped my
arm and the next moment he dropped—he had fainted like a
woman. I had only time to see that a young ‘bleached blonde’ was
passing us; after that, for an hour, I was busy with my brother. Well,
to make this story short, Archie told me everything. He had to, you
see, for the blonde woman was his wife—he recognized her instantly
—she was living!”
“How horrible!” cried Miss Allyn, as Miss Ray stopped speaking. She
had thought just then of what Dr. Brookes had said and was
beginning to put “two and two” together.
“Oh, and I thought he loved Marion!” burst out Dollie impetuously. “I
was as sure as anything that she would marry him some time.”
“That is the hardest part of it! He does love her,” sighed Miss Ray,
“but I was obliged to tell her his miserable secret, and it is that
which has brought her into this awful trouble.”
Miss Allyn said nothing, but Dollie cried out in astonishment.
“She has a picture of Archie’s wife that I gave her,” explained Miss
Ray, “and she promised to watch for and to try and save her. You
see, Mary, Archie’s wife has gone to the bad altogether, and of
course we feel pretty sure that she will drift to Blackwell’s Island,
and in case that happens we thought Marion would see her, and oh,
to think that the woman should have tricked us. For it was she, my
brother’s shameless wife, that Marion tried to rescue to-day, and
now to think that the dear girl is in her power and she knows, that
drunken creature, that Archie is in love with her.”
This time even Miss Allyn gave her a questioning glance, then
suddenly Miss Ray blushed scarlet as she turned her face from her
companions.
“Forgive me, please, for wounding you,” she said, very softly, “but,
Mary, that dreadful woman is in the constant companionship of a
man who has met Marion here, as your friend, Miss Allyn. He goes
by the name of George Harris Colebrooke.”
With a little groan Miss Allyn rose from her chair.
“The black-hearted scoundrel!” she muttered, savagely. “And he
hates her, Miss Ray; because she was loyal to me George Colebrooke
hates her.”
Dollie burst out crying again and it took both women to comfort her.
She was now thoroughly alarmed about the condition of her sister.
She had entirely forgotten the doctor’s allusion to “May Osgood,” but
Miss Allyn was pondering it over and over in silence.
It was almost midnight when the three young men returned, but
they came triumphant, bringing Marion with them.
“Put her right to bed,” said Dr. Brookes, authoritatively. “The poor
girl is worn out from this evening’s experience. If the shock is not
too great she will be all right to-morrow.”
“I am all right now,” cried Marion, decidedly, as she insisted upon
walking to a chair unsupported. “Oh, what a dreadful experience it
has been. To think that I was only trying to do the woman a
kindness and she deliberately connived to get me in to her rooms in
order that I might be insulted by—by that villain!”
“We all know who you mean!” said Miss Allyn, promptly. “George
Colebrooke hates you, and the woman is his friend! Oh, how could I
ever have been so deceived—so foolish as to trust him.”
“Thank Heaven you are done with him!” said Marion gladly, then she
glanced at her rescuers with a pitiful look, but she could not yet
understand Mr. Ray and the doctor being together.
She was very pale and almost radiantly beautiful as she said good-
night to her friends a little later. If there was any preference in her
heart for either of these noble young men, there was not an
expression or glance to show it.
As Dr. Brookes said good-night and walked away by himself he had
fully decided that Bert’s information was erroneous—if that woman
was Mrs. Ray, how could she be “May Osgood?”
“Marion, I believe you are a coquette,” said Miss Allyn, when the girls
were alone. “I don’t see how else you could possibly be so entirely
neutral.”
“I act as I feel,” said Marion, simply, “I don’t know which I like best
and to-night I am too tired to think—they were both as brave as
lions and Bert held his own with them nobly.”
After the three girls were in bed Marion told them what had
happened. She had only to speak distinctly, for Miss Allyn’s bed-room
was adjoining.
“I knew her by her picture, and, of course, I remembered my
promise,” she began, “and I am sure she must have known me by
some means or other, for she began eyeing me very curiously as
soon as she was in the carriage. When we got to her house she
pleaded helplessness,” she continued, “so I assisted her up the stairs
in spite of my weak condition. Then the moment we were in her flat
she burst out laughing. In a second she had locked the door and I
was a prisoner. Of course I demanded to be let out, but she said she
was Archie Ray’s wife and that I was his sweetheart and that she
would smirch my reputation so that he would never again care for
me. At that very minute who should come from another room but
George Colebrooke and another man, both fairly reeking with liquor.
”I was horribly frightened, but I did not show it. I demanded to be
let out. They only laughed at me. Then one of them put his arms
around me and held me tightly while the woman mixed something in
a glass and Colebrooke tried to make me swallow it.”
“Oh, Marion, what did you do?” gasped Dollie, breathlessly.
Marion smiled a little, now that the frightful thing was over.
“Why, I bit his hand so badly that he dropped the glass,” was her
answer, “and just at that second the door was burst in and the next
thing I knew my friends were all there and that fellow Colebrook had
vanished like magic.”
 CHAPTER VIII.
A VISIT TO THE MORGUE.
Two days later Marion was on her way back to Charity Hospital. She
had been absent from duty for a week, but they had all heard of her
injury and been most kind and sympathetic. This time, as she
passed down Twenty-sixth street, Archie Ray was with her. He had
been first in the offer of escort on this occasion.
As they rode slowly along in Mr. Ray’s private carriage, Marion could
see that his face had grown wonderfully sad. It was not like the face
that she had recalled so vividly that night when Dr. Brookes had told
her that he loved her.
“You are grieving terribly, Mr. Ray,” she said to him, sweetly. “Do,
please, try to look on the bright side a little. There is surely some
way of ridding yourself of that woman.”
“Do you believe in divorce?” asked Mr. Ray, suddenly.
“I most certainly do,” was Marion’s prompt answer. “I believe in
anything that will undo an error.”
“You are more just and merciful than the world at large,” sighed the
young man. “Most people would say, ‘If you married her, stick to her,’
and I would say so, too, if the difference was not quite so glaring.”
Marion’s gray eyes grew tender as she glanced at him shyly. It
seemed almost immodest to her that she should be advising him in
this matter.
“‘For better or worse’ does not mean that,” she said, very slowly.
“When sin and crime come between husband and wife, it is time to
separate to avoid contamination. No true man or woman will hold
the promise, ‘until death,’ as indissoluble under such conditions. It is
contrary to all the laws of human nature.”
Mr. Ray listened eagerly. These were his own thoughts put in words.
He was glad, indeed, that she coincided so completely.
“I promised loyally and honestly,” he murmured, after a minute, “but
I did not dream that I was marrying a dual character. I wrecked my
whole life by one error. Oh, can I ever undo it?”
“I certainly should try,” said Marion, stoutly. “You are too young and
too—too noble to be tied to such a woman.”
The carriage halted as Marion spoke, and Mr. Ray glanced out of the
window to see what was the matter.
“We are right in front of the Morgue,” said Marion, looking out. “Oh,
I see what is stopping us; they are loading up the dead wagon.”
Her companion shivered as he saw a wagon load of pine coffins
about ten feet ahead of them.
“What a horrible place!” he said. “Have you ever been in there?”
“No, but I’d like to go if there is time,” said Marion, quickly. “And I
am quite sure there is. The boat does not leave until eleven.”
Mr. Ray spoke to the driver and then helped Marion out. At the same
moment another carriage rolled up and stopped directly before the
entrance.
“It is Mr. Atherton, Dollie’s employer!” Marion whispered, as she
drew back suddenly.
A man had stepped from the other carriage and gone into the
Morgue. She knew him instantly, although his back was toward her.
Archie Ray hardly heard the young girl’s next words. He was staring
after the lawyer with a dazed expression.
“He is the old lawyer who is Dollie’s employer,” Marion said again,
“and he’s a regular roué, if I am any judge. Why, do you know, he
took Dollie to luncheon one day and would have taken her to a
matinee if I had not stopped it.”
“Is it possible?” said Mr. Ray, coming back to her words, with a start.
“Why, that man is my father-in-law. He is the father of my wife. Has
not his own daughter’s career made him more merciful of other
maidens?”
Marion was shocked at his news, but there was no time to reply. The
next moment they were in the dingy home of the dead, gazing
around them with curiosity.
“He did not see us,” whispered Marion, as the lawyer went out
again. “And I am very glad, for I should not care to speak to him.”
“Dead John,” the keeper, came in at that moment. He was a little
impatient as he looked at his visitors.
“Be yees lookin’ fer any one in perteckeler?” he asked, crossly, “fer if
yees ain’t, it ain’t no time ter be comin’ in wen I’m busy.”
“What was he looking for?” asked Mr. Ray, pointing after the lawyer.
“You were civil enough to him, even if you were busy.”
The man shook his head and became suddenly better natured.
“He’s lookin’ fer his gal, he sez,” was his answer. “He ain’t seen her
fer years an’ he comes here lookin’ every mornin’.”
“That’s a queer combination,” said Mr. Ray, as he put Marion back
into the carriage. “A man who is always hunting the Morgue on the
lookout for his own wayward one, yet never losing a chance to
wrong some other man’s daughter.”
“I think a little more knowledge of the evil in the world will drive me
mad,” said Marion, sharply. “Oh, is there no end to it? I am
beginning to be doubtful.”
Mr. Ray looked at her fair face with one of his old, tender glances.
“It is wrong that you should have learned even so much as one
lesson of the evil,” he said, softly. “You should have been kept free
from it all, my peerless Marion.”
The beautiful girl’s face flushed scarlet to the roots of her hair, but
Mr. Ray touched her hand gently, almost in a pleading manner.
“Let me think of you thus—it can do no harm,” he said, softly. “Let
me say to myself, she is my peerless Marion, even though a barrier
exists between us which prevents my saying anything more.”
Marion bowed her head and the tears sprang to her eyes.
“You are too good to think so well of me,” she said, simply. “Oh, I
wish you could know how deeply I sympathize with you. How sorry I
am to know how you have suffered.”
She let her hand rest in his as she looked at him.
“And you will watch, Marion, for my erring wife,” he said, sadly; “you
will forget what she has done in your friendship for me, for I should
never forgive myself if she should be in want or die uncared for.”
“I will watch,” said Marion, simply, and then the carriage stopped.
Once more Marion was admitted to the little hospital dock, going
back to her duties among the city’s unfortunate. As she reached the
deck of the Thomas Brennan, some one stepped out of the pilot
house to greet her.
It was young Dr. Brookes, on his way to the Prison Hospital.

CHAPTER IX.
MARION WITNESSES A QUEER SIGHT.
“Big Belle, the Confidence Queen,” was a very versatile woman. At
liberty, she was noted for the variety of her accomplishments, and in
prison walls she was equally useful both in her cell and in the
workroom.
But this strange woman’s greatest delight was in the care of the sick,
and as she passed from cot to cot in the prison hospital both her
hand and her voice were as gentle as a mother’s.
She was a large, fine-looking woman, with brilliant black eyes, but
the coarse prison garb did not enhance the beauty of either face or
figure.
Belle had “done time” at the “Isle de Blackwell” before, so she felt
very much at home in her present occupation.
There was not a rule or regulation about the prison that she did not
know, and if she ever longed to break one of them there was no
indication of it in her manner.
Rather, it seemed to her associates that Belle was merely “biding her
time,” and, according to all accounts, a goodly portion of her ill-
gotten gains was steadily drawing interest in various banks in
anticipation of her coming.
As Big Belle bent over one of her charges whose face was covered
with bandages, she moistened them as skillfully as any trained nurse
could have done, and as the prison physician entered the ward she
went over to him promptly, standing with calmly folded hands and
eyes cast down, the very embodiment of meekness and servitude.
“How is she this morning?” was the doctor’s first question, asked
without even raising his eyes from the prescription he was writing.
“Worse, Dr. Brookes,” said “Big Belle” in a lady-like voice. “I should
say that the vitriol was still burning deeper, and if I am not much
mistaken there is a considerable fever.”
“I’ll have to get you a thermometer,” said Dr. Brookes, without
thinking; “you can certainly take temperature, Belle, they tell me you
are clever.”
A half-suppressed laugh from the woman startled him. He looked up
and caught her eye, and then he, too, smiled slightly.
“I keep forgetting that you people aren’t to be trusted,” he said,
pleasantly. “When will I ever learn that I am working in a prison!”
The woman did not answer, but she followed him with her eyes as
he moved away. She was by far too clever not to understand his
words, and by far too unhappy not to be secretly pleased by them.
“He’d trust me all right, if he dared,” she thought. “As if there was
any danger of my killing myself, or any one else for that matter!”
“May I come in a minute?” asked a pleasant voice at the door.
Dr. Brookes looked around quickly, and a smile spread over his
features. His visitor was Marion Marlowe, in her nurse’s dress and
bare-headed, except for the light shawl, which she was just slipping
to her shoulders.
“Come right in,” said the young man, as he went quickly forward,
then stopped suddenly at the thought of his professional dignity.
“Oh, Miss Marlowe, what ward do you come from, please? I am
almost afraid to make you welcome.”
“Don’t fear,” said Marion, smilingly, as she stepped into the ward.
“Since I came back from the city, I have only been helping in the
linen room. They have been kind enough to keep me off the wards
until I grew a little stronger.”
“Big Belle” was just passing on her way to the vitriol patient and
Marion watched her movements with a look of wonder.
“The cleverest ‘confidence woman’ in the world,” whispered the
doctor. “She counts the victims she has fleeced by the score, yet see
how gentle she is with my patients.”
“What is the matter with her?” asked Marion, nodding toward the
patient with the bandaged face.
“Why, she was in some drunken fight with another woman. I believe
it was over some man, and as they left Jefferson Market Court her
rival fairly deluged her with vitriol. She only came up from the city
yesterday—sent up as a ‘drunk and disorderly’ for ten days only, but
she’ll never go back. She is slowly dying.”
“Poor thing!” sighed Marion, with tears in her eyes. “But her fate is
the same as dozens that I have seen already. Oh, this awful island!
This awful island!”
She was moving toward the patient when Dr. Brookes stopped her.
“No, Marion!” he said, firmly; “you must not go any nearer.
Erysipelas has set in and you know you are still in a weak condition.
If you should catch any infection in my wards, I would never forgive
myself—so forgive me, please, for being inhospitable!”
“Big Belle” came back and stood quietly beside the doctor. She had
something to say to him and was awaiting his permission to speak.
“She wishes me to send for her father,” she reported as Dr. Brookes
turned to her. “She knows that she is dying, and is anxious to see
him.”
“Get his name,” was the doctor’s answer, but “Big Belle” smiled
sadly. “I tried to,” she said, quickly, “but she lapsed into
unconsciousness that minute.”
“They may know his name in the office,” said the doctor. “I’ll go right
down now and see if I can wire him.”
As Dr. Brookes and Marion reached the door of the building, a breath
of salt, fresh air came over the water.
“What a mockery!” said Marion, with a heart-felt sigh. “Oh! this place
is so beautiful with its wonderful, changing scenery, yet how sad are
the hearts that dwell in these buildings. How weary are the eyes that
gaze out on these waters!”
The tramp of many feet came as an echo to her words. Marion
turned, and through the iron grating saw the convicts marching to
their luncheon.
“Oh! do let me go in and see them!” she cried, impulsively. “It is the
first time I have been in here, although I have been a month on the
Island.”
Dr. Brookes spoke to the turnkey who at once opened the great
guard doors.
As Marion stepped into the dim corridor, with its small high windows
and bleak gray walls, she shuddered involuntarily as all do at their
first visit to a prison.
Tier after tier of cells rose above her head and now that the convicts
were on their way to the dining-room she stood still for a moment
and gazed morbidly into the blackness.
Suddenly there was a cry from the doctor and a guard came running
toward him.
Dr. Brookes pointed with one hand toward a closed cell just above
them, and with the other tried desperately to push Marion behind
him.
But he was a second too late, for Marion’s glance had followed his
own, and for the next few minutes both stood speechless with
horror.
A man whose face was so familiar to Marion that her heart almost
stopped beating when she recognized it, was hanging by the neck to
the door of his cell. In the momentary excitement of the meal hour
he had seized his opportunity, and when the guard at last cut him
loose he was too far gone to be resuscitated.
“Who is he?” asked Dr. Brookes, as they brought him down.
Almost automatically the guard muttered the dead man’s number,
but with ashen lips Marion gave the information.
“His name is Lawson,” she said, in a whisper; “and he is the villain
who boarded at my father’s home one summer. He was a hypnotist
by profession, and he abducted my sister Dollie! He was sentenced
to Sing Sing, so I had no idea that I would see him here.”
The guard explained that he had been transferred to the Island by
special order, only a few days previously.
Reginald Brookes bit his lips in a burst of anger.
“Forgive me,” he said, humbly; “I had no idea you bore such sorrow.
Thank Heaven he has paid the penalty and yes—I am glad that you
saw it.”
“I am, too,” said Marion, who was deathly pale. “If it had to be—I
am glad that I saw it.”

CHAPTER X.
A CONVICT’S CONFIDENCE.
That very afternoon Dr. Brookes got a letter from Dr. Greenaway. It
was the first time he had heard from him since he loaned him the
five thousand dollars.
“Poor chap! He little knows what a shock I had,” he thought, “when
for a moment I thought I had discovered his sweetheart in that
drunken woman!”
He tore open the letter and read it hastily. It was very brief and only
took a minute.
“I am nicely settled,” wrote Greenaway, “and would be perfectly
happy, but my sweetheart has thrown me over—jilted me—to be
honest. Of course you will think that if I can talk of it I do not suffer,
but at just this minute I must talk or die, and you, doc, are my
friend, the only one I have in creation. Yes, May has left me and
gone, I don’t know where, but to be honest again, I think it is to the
devil! She was always gay, but I trusted her, doc, even while she was
abroad for three months. I did not doubt her, but now there is no
use denying it any longer, she is a bad, dissolute woman—and yet I
love her!”
There was a little more to the doctor’s strange letter, but it was the
postscript that Dr. Brookes remembered longest and wondered most
over.
“I haven’t forgotten the name of your little nurse-friend, yet, doc,” it
said, “for I have a curious presentiment, in some way, that some
sorrow will come to me through Miss Marion Marlowe!”
“As queer as ever—queerer, perhaps,” muttered Dr. Brookes as he
finished the letter.
Then as he went about his work in the meagerly furnished wards he
found himself wondering if Greenaway was going crazy.
“What a fool to throw himself away on a woman like that!” he said
aloud. The next instant he noticed with embarrassment that “Big
Belle” had heard him.
“By Jove!” thought the doctor, suddenly, “I am going to talk to this
woman. Prison rules be hanged! She is a human being, and if any
one knows the world this woman knows it.”
He turned toward her instantly—there was no one within hearing.
“Belle,” he said, quietly, “tell me something of your life. I want to
know your motive for being dishonest.”
The woman stared at him a moment, and then smiled broadly. There
was a vestige of her old shrewdness in the way she answered him.
“I have never been proven dishonest,” she said, quietly. “I came up
this time on the strength of my reputation, but, granted that I am
dishonest, this is my only motive, I wish to hold my own in the
struggle of life—I am what you might call a rabid believer in the
‘survival of the fittest.’”
“But how long do you expect to survive?” he asked quickly, “and do
you call your present existence living?”
“I have some money,” said the woman quietly, “and this fortune is
put away where no law can touch it. I have fifteen years yet before I
shall be fifty-five; more of those years I expect to spend in prison,
but after that——”
She stopped a moment and chuckled before she added:
“After that I presume I shall enter society.”
To save himself, the doctor could not help laughing. He was amused,
to say the least, at this woman’s philosophy.
“You seem to have no fear of results,” he said after a minute. “What
was your early training? Were your parents religious?”
For once “Big Belle’s” eyes snapped with a hidden fire. He had
touched the chord that was most responsive.
“I was a country girl like that nurse who was in this morning,” she
said, quickly; “I came to the city because my parents could not
support me. I was only one of the thousands who are kicked out at
an early age to battle with the world’s evils, and oh, how I was
tossed and buffeted about! How readily my superiors made a
football of me! How willingly women inveigled me into foolish ways,
and how quickly and thoroughly they abused me for being inveigled!
I was a fresh field daisy, innocent as a lamb, but oh, how gladly men
sullied the whiteness of my soul, how eagerly they flattered me and
led me astray, and then, when I was as they were, how brutally they
served me! There were times when I thought I would gladly die, Dr.
Brookes, but there was something in me that kept urging and
urging, and at last I turned, as a worm will turn, and yes, I will tell
you, my motive was to get even!”
The black eyes were scintillating with fury now, and Dr. Brookes
almost regretted that he had stirred up such a passion.
“I don’t entirely blame you,” he said quietly, “and yet I know that
you are wrong. It is better to suffer than to persecute—apart from
all religious sentiment, I believe that thoroughly!”
“Well, I don’t!” said the woman in a cold, hard voice. “I prefer to
take things as they come, Dr. Brookes, and you cannot say that I do
not take my punishment philosophically.”
They were at one end of a long ward when this conversation took
place; five minutes later they were both bending over a patient.
“You can take the bandages off now, Belle,” said the doctor, softly.
“Poor soul, she is dying and perhaps she will be more comfortable.”
“Did you learn her name?” asked the female convict.
“No, she came as Mary Jones, which means absolutely nothing. We
have wired to the police for further information.”
“Well, it will come too late, I’m afraid,” said the woman softly. The
patient had breathed her last before she had fairly removed the
dressings.
Marion Marlowe was standing by a window in Charity Hospital,
watching the setting sun just as the “vitriol patient’s” remains were
taken to the criminal “dead-house.”
Little did she dream what tragedy had been enacted, or how closely
connected was her life with this poor creature’s.
She was thinking of Mr. Ray and his great grief as she stood there,
and it was only the stroke of the bell that roused her from her
reverie.
As she passed through the corridor on her way to the dining-room
an office assistant came along with a handful of letters.
“Oh, have you one for me?” asked Marion, quickly. “I am Marion
Marlowe, I’m in the linen-room at present.”
“You were at the ‘medical,’” said the young man as he handed her a
letter. “There ain’t much danger of any of us losing track of you, Miss
Marlowe.”
Marion looked at him quickly, and an admiring glance rewarded her.
“Prettiest girl in the building,” he said, blandly. “Every man on the
Island is in love with you, Miss Peaches.”
“Convicts and all?” asked Marion, laughing.
“If they ain’t, then they are in the right place,” was the answer; “but
I guess if they wasn’t they wouldn’t all of ’em be breaking rules to
look at you! Don’t you remember that fellow that got shot, Miss
Marlowe?”
Marion shuddered as she recalled the terrible scene, and as she
walked slowly away her face paled a little.
It had happened during the first week of her stay on the Island, and
ever since then she had been trying hard to forget it. Then a vision
of the black-souled Lawson’s tragic end flitted across her brain and
she put up both hands as if to ward off such pictures.
“That poor convict that jumped into the water and was shot is to be
envied,” she whispered sadly. “He went down out of sight beneath
the smiling waters, but Lawson, the abductor, goes to Potter’s Field.
It is right! It is just! He richly deserves it!”

CHAPTER XI.
BERT JACKSON TO THE RESCUE.
The tragedy of the “vitriol patient’s” death was almost a tragedy of
two cities—the great city of New York, where crime is conceived and
fostered and the smaller city on Blackwell’s Island, where crime is
punished and ended.
A few hours after that sad death in the Prison Hospital, the lawyer,
Augustus Atherton, stood on the steps of his office waiting for his
typewriter, Dollie Marlowe, to join him.
As he stood there waiting he twisted his gray mustache idly. His
hands were neatly gloved and his attire stylish and spotless.
“Not a bad looking chap for fifty,” said a man who was passing, “and
do you know, Dare, he is a great masher—a regular sport with the
ladies.”
“I have heard that his wife left him years ago,” was the low answer,
“and that his daughter, the one that married young Ray while he was
in college, was quick in striking the old man’s pace and kept it up
until she went plumb to the devil.”
“Where is she now?” asked the first speaker, glancing back to see if
the lawyer was still waiting.
“The last I heard she was seen fighting on the street. I believe her
husband or some friend of his happened to see her, and for the sake
of the family kept the thing quiet.”
As the two men passed on, Dollie Marlowe came tripping down the
steps. She was dressed in a natty blue cloth suit and looked more
bewitching than ever.
“You are sure I will get home early?” she said to the lawyer,
plaintively.
“Certainly, little one,” was the smiling answer as he helped her into a
carriage.
“Marion Marlowe would be furious if she knew I was going out with
you after all,” she said after they had started, “and, of course, my
chaperon, Miss Allyn, will think she has to tell her. Oh, I must
manage to get home early so they will not know anything about it.”
“Any one would think I was an ogre or a monster of some sort,” said
the lawyer, smiling down at her, “when really all I am doing is just
giving you a little pleasure. Certainly there is no harm in a supper in
a private room together.”
“Can’t we go to a regular restaurant?” asked Dollie, shyly. “I think I
would prefer it very much, if you please, Mr. Atherton.”
The wily old lawyer leaned over and smiled at her before he
answered. As he gazed into her eyes, he took her hand and pressed
it gently.
“My dear child, you are as safe with me as you would be with your
own father,” he said, purringly. “Do, Dollie, raise those sweet eyes
and tell me that you trust me.”
“Oh, I do trust you, of course,” said the girl, a little more bravely,
“but I keep thinking of Ralph, and it makes me nervous.”
“Ralph is the young man whom you are engaged to, is he not?” he
asked, suavely. “Well, can Ralph give you nice dinners and take you
to theatres, and can he buy you pretty dresses and jewelry, Dollie?”
“No, he can’t—not now,” said Dolly, a little sadly. “Ralph is only a
book-keeper on fifteen dollars a week. We mean to be married as
soon as he gets twenty.”
“And I can give you twenty dollars a week for your own self,” said
the lawyer, quickly, “and I will do it, too, Dollie, if you will give up
this fellow.”
“Oh, I couldn’t give Ralph up. Why, I love him!” cried the girl,
sharply. “And I don’t know why it is that I have come out with you,
Mr. Atherton. I know Ralph would not like it. Oh, I am sure it is
wicked!”
Poor, weak, little Dollie was growing hysterical now, and the next
moment she found her head resting on her employer’s shoulder.
As the lawyer leaned over to pull down the carriage blind he became
suddenly aware that some one was looking in at the window.
“The impudence of that fellow,” he muttered between his teeth. “It
is a chap on horseback, and he was trying to peep,” he explained to
Dollie. The next instant he bent boldly and pressed a kiss on her
forehead.
“Oh, Mr. Atherton, you mustn’t,” cried Dollie in genuine alarm, but as
she tried to draw herself away from him he only held her tighter.
“Let go of me this minute,” she gasped, stamping her foot in anger.
Her cheeks were like roses now and her eyes like purple pansies. As
her lips trembled with anger they seemed more tempting than ever,
and Augustus Atherton, unable to resist her beauty, made another
attempt to draw her head to his bosom.
With the frenzy of despair Dollie tore herself away and as quick as a
flash uncovered the tiny window.
One glance through the pane made her almost shout for joy, for
there, still riding his mount as close to the carriage as possible, was
Bert Jackson, in all the glory of his lately acquired finery.
“Oh, Bert, save me!” shrieked Dollie, and that second the horses
were stopped.
Bert Jackson sprang to the ground and threw the carriage door
open.
“Come out here, you old sinner, and let me lick you!” he roared as he
almost lifted Dollie to the roadway beside him.
“Go on, driver!” yelled the lawyer, shrinking back in his seat.
“Not by a darn sight!” bawled Bert, making a dive into the carriage.
“Quick, Bert! Let him go,” cried Dollie in dismay. “Oh, stop quick!
There’s a lot of people staring at us already.”
Bert dropped back to the street with a groan of rage. As the carriage
rolled away he shook his fist at it vigorously.
“I’ll take this car, Bert, and go right home,” said Dollie, penitently, as
Bert was looking about wondering what to do with her.
“All right, if you will,” said Bert, very coolly, “my horse won’t lead
very well in the street. I’ll be up this evening to see you, Dollie.”
“Oh, Bert, I am so ashamed,” said Dollie as he signaled a car. “You
won’t tell Marion or Ralph or Miss Allyn, will you?”
“Not a word,” said Bert with a little grin. “But I’ll punch that old
duffer yet—you see if I don’t! The idea of his making love to my
future sister!”

CHAPTER XII.
MARION SAVES A VICTIM FROM POTTER’S
FIELD.
Dr. Reginald Brookes had given his last order for the night, and as he
left the Prison Hospital he bent his steps almost involuntarily toward
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