IN COURT
Johnny and Drew were up at eight o'clock next morning. At 8:30 the
black-haired, dark-eyed girl with smiling lips and dimpled cheeks brought
in steaming coffee and some unusual but delicious pastry.
Drew called her Rosy, and patted her on the arm. Rosy's dimples deepened.
Who was Rosy? Why did she live in that other shack among the walls of
brick and mortar? Why did Drew room in this odd place? Johnny wanted to
ask all these questions. Realizing that their answers did not greatly
concern him, he asked none of them.
At ten o'clock he and Drew were seated on the front bench of the "Local
46," the particular court room in which their pickpocket case was to be
tried.
The whole scene was packed with interest for Johnny. The judge in his
box-like coop, the young prosecutor and the deputies standing below, the
motley throng that filled the seats at his back, each waiting his turn to
appear as complainant, defendant or witness, made a picture he would not
soon forget.
The judge was a dark-skinned man of foreign appearance. His hair was
long. His eyes were large, and at times piercing. He sat slumped down in
his chair. When sudden problems arose, he had a trick of bracing his
hands on the arms of his chair and peering at a prisoner as a hawk might
peer at a squirrel or a mouse.
"He's Italian," said Drew. "Smart man. Knows his business. Square, too. A
good judge. Lots of fun, too, if he wants to be."
At this moment two names were called. Two large men, respectably dressed,
walked up the aisle to take their places at the high, narrow table just
before the judge's stand. Two officers stepped up beside them.
"Confidence men," whispered Drew. "We all know them. Haven't got a thing
on them, though, I'll bet. Just picked them up on suspicion. They get
thousands every year from people who are looking for a chance to make
easy money. They--
"See! I told you. The judge is letting them go. It's not what you know
that counts in court. It's what you can prove."
Once more the stage was set. An attractive young woman, carefully and
tastefully dressed, a young man at her side, a middle-aged man of stocky
build carrying a package, a young lady of the shop-girl type at his side;
these four stood before the judge.
"Young lady," said the judge, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses
as he spoke to the well dressed one, "you are charged with the theft of
one dress, taken from the store of Dobbs, Hobson & Dobbs; value $14.00.
Guilty, or not guilty?"
"Guilty," the girl murmured with downcast eyes.
"It is my duty," the judge leaned forward in his chair, "to warn you that
if you plead guilty I may fine you from one dollar to one hundred
dollars, or send you to jail for from one day to one year. Knowing this,
do you still wish to plead guilty?" His tone was impressive.
The girl hesitated. A short, gray-haired man stepped up and whispered in
her ear.
"Her lawyer," explained Drew.
"Guilty." The girl nodded her head.
The evidence was presented. Then the husband of the young lady spoke: "If
your Honor please. This is the first time this sort of thing has
happened. I will give my pledge that it will not happen again."
The judge raised himself on his elbows, stared through his glasses and
exclaimed: "I'll see that it doesn't happen again for sixty days. The
idea! A woman of your intelligence going into a store and carrying off a
dress that doesn't belong to you and you don't need! Why did you do it?"
"I--I don't know, Judge. I--I just saw it there. I--I liked it. So, the
first thing I knew I was taking it away."
"Exactly. Sixty days! Sit over there."
The judge pointed to a row of chairs at the right of his box; the
defendant burst into tears, dabbled her eyes with an embroidered
handkerchief; her young husband led her to a seat and, for the time, the
affair was ended.
"The judge will allow her to weep for a couple of hours," Drew explained
in a whisper. "Meantime, his secretary in the back room will get some
people on the wire and look up her record. If her record is good, he'll
set his sentence aside, put her on a year's probation. Probably never
hear from her again. She's had about enough.
"But why do they do it?" he exclaimed in a whisper. "If you were a young
woman would you go through all this and carry the memory of the
humiliation and disgrace through a long life for a fourteen dollar dress?
You would not; nor for forty dresses!
"But they do it, over and over and over. Hats, belts, coats, dresses,
artificial flowers. What don't they steal? And they come to court,
sometimes three or four a day, to stand before the judge and weep. You'd
think they'd learn, that everyone in the world would learn after awhile,
everyone, except the professional shoplifter. But they don't."
And now a score of young black men stood before the bench. They were
accused of gambling with dice. The dice, a hook for raking them in, and a
few coins were offered in evidence.
"Who was running this game?" the judge thundered at them. Nobody knew;
not even the arresting officer.
"Well," said the judge, "you all working?"
"Ya-as, sir."
"Got good jobs?"
"Ya-as, sir."
"Louder." The judge cupped a hand to his ear. "You all got real good
jobs?"
"Ya-as, SIR!"
"All right, you can go, but we have a police benefit fund here. If you've
all got real good jobs you might contribute a dollar each to that fund."
The black men went into a huddle. They produced the required sum and
marched out.
"One of the judge's little jokes," Drew smiled. "I don't see how he could
live through all this low down squalor day after day if it wasn't for his
jokes."
"I want to tell you, Johnny, I wish I could tell every boy in the land a
thousand times, crime is not attractive! It is mean and low down, sordid
and dirty. That's the best you can make out of it."
"One more case," he whispered as he rose, "then comes ours. You wait
here. I'll go get the men."