"You have at last got to the point where you can’t bunco anybody."
Judge Killits sentenced  Fred; "This is one of those times when your peculiar and persuasive hypnotic personality fails you, isn't it? You have at last got to the point where you can’t bunco anybody. You have come to the mountain and can't reach the latitude; it is beyond you. First, we had Ananias, then we had Machiavelli; the Twentieth Century, produced Frederick A. Cook. Poor old Ananias, he is forgotten, and Machiavelli—we have Frederick A. Cook. Cook, this deal of yours, and this conception of yours, and this execution of yours, was so damnably crooked that I know the men who defended you, defended you with their handkerchiefs to their noses, rank, smelling to Heaven. I wish I could do with you as I might, the way I feel about you; I wish I were not circumscribed by some conventions, that I think are mistakes, yet until public sentiment is educated to a better respect for the law, we have got to respect them to some degree. I don’t think you ought to run at large at all; you are too dangerous."
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