Springtown was about twelve miles west of Darley, only a mile from
Captain Duncan’s house, and half a mile from Pole Baker’s humble cottage
and small farm. The village had a population of about two hundred souls.
It was the county seat; and the court-house, a simple, ante-bellum brick
structure, stood in the centre of the public square, round which were
clustered the one-storied shops, lawyers’ offices, cotton warehouses,
hotel and general stores.
Chief among the last mentioned was the well-known establishment of Mayhew
& Floyd. It was a long frame building, once white but now a murky gray, a
tone which nothing but the brush of time and weather could have given it.
It was only a week since Captain Duncan’s talk with Pole Baker, and a
bright, inspiring morning, well suited to the breaking of the soil and
the planting of seed. The village was agog with the spirit of hope. The
post-office was filled with men who had come for their mail, and they
stood and chatted about the crops on the long veranda of the hotel and
in the front part of Mayhew & Floyd’s store. Pole Baker was in the store
talking with Joe Peters, the clerk, about seed-potatoes, when a tall
countryman in the neighborhood of forty-five years of age slouched in and
leaned heavily against the counter.
“I want a box o’ forty-four cartridges,” he said, drawing out a long
revolver and rapping on the counter with the butt of it.
“What! you goin’ squirrel huntin’?” Peters laughed and winked at Pole.
“That gun’s got a long enough barrel to reach the top o’ the highest tree
in these mountains.”
“You slide around behind thar an’ git me them cartridges!” retorted the
customer. “Do yore talkin’ to somebody else. I’ll hunt what an’ whar I
want to, I reckon.”
“Oh, come off yore perch, Jeff Wade!” the clerk said, with another easy
laugh. “You hain’t nobody’s daddy. But here you are. Forty cents a box,
full count, every one warranted to make a hole an’ a noise. Want me to
charge ’em?”
“No, I don’t; by God—I don’t! An’ what’s more, I want to know exactly how
much I owe this house. I went to a dozen money lenders ’fore I found what
I wanted, but I got it an’ I want to pay what I owe Mayhew & Floyd.”
Just then Pole Baker stepped up to the man’s side and, peering under the
broad brim of his hat, said:
“Looky here, Jeff Wade, what you shootin’ off yore mouth fer? I ’lowed at
fust that you was full, but you hain’t drinkin’; at least, you don’t seem
that way to me.”
“Drinkin’, hell! No, I’m not drinkin’, an’ what’s more, I don’t intend
to let a drap pass down my throat till I’ve done my duty to me an’ mine.
Say, you look an’ see ef I’m drinkin’. See ef you think a man that’s in
liquor would have as steady a nerve as I’ve got. You watch me! Maybe
it’ll show you what I’m able to do.”
Turning, he stalked out of the store, and Peters and Pole followed,
watching him in wonder. He strode across the street to the court-house,
loading his revolver as he went. Reaching the closed door of the public
building he took an envelope from his pocket and fastened it to the panel
by thrusting the blade of his big pocket-knife into it several times.
The spectators heard the hollow, resounding blows like the strokes of a
carpenter’s hammer, and then Wade turned and came back toward them.
“By gum, he’s off his nut!” said Peters seriously. “He’s as crazy as a
bedbug.”
“It’s my opinion he’s jest comin’ to his senses,” Pole mused, a
thoughtful look in his eyes. “Yes, that’s about it; he’s jest wakin’ up,
an’ the whole county will know it, too. By gum, I hate this—I hate it!”
“You hate what?” asked Peters, his eyes on the farmer, who was now quite
near them. Pole made no reply, for Wade was by his side on the brick
walk beneath the wooden shed in front of the store, his revolver swinging
at his side.
“You fellows keep yore eye on that envelope,” said Wade, and he cocked
his revolver.
“Look here, don’t make a dern fool o’ yorese’f,” said Pole Baker, and
he laid a remonstrating hand on the tense arm of the gaunt mountaineer.
“You know it’s agin the ordinance. You know you’ll git into trouble; you
listen to the advice of a friend. Put that gun up an’ go home.”
“I’m my own boss!” snarled the man with the weapon.
“You’re a blamed fool too,” answered Baker.
“Well, that’s my lookout.” Wade glared over his shoulder and raised his
voice significantly: “I want to show this town how easy it will be fer me
to put three balls into the blackest heart that ever pumped human blood.”
“You’d better mind what yo’re about, Jeff Wade.” Pole Baker was pale, his
lips were tight, his eyes flashing.
“I know what I’m about. I’m tryin’ to draw a coward from his lair. I’m
not shore—I’m not _dead_ shore, mind you, but I’m mighty nigh it. Ef the
guilty stand an’ hear what I’m a-sayin’ an’ don’t take it up, they are
wuss than hell-tainted. You watch that white mark.”
The bystanders, several comprehending, stood rigid. Pole Baker stared.
Wade raised his revolver, aimed steadily at the mark and fired three
shots in quick succession.
“Thar!” said the marksman, with grim triumph, “as bad as my sight is, I
kin see ’em from here.”
“By gum, they are thar!” exclaimed Peters, with a strange look into Pole
Baker’s set face. “They are thar, Pole.”
“You bet they are thar, an’ some’ll be in another spot ’fore long,” said
Wade. “Now, Peters, you go in the house an’ bring me my account. I’ve got
the money.”
Wonderingly the clerk obeyed. Pole went into the store behind him, and,
as Peters stood at the big ledger figuring, Pole stepped up to Nelson
Floyd, who sat near a window in the rear with a newspaper in front of him.
“Did you hear all that, Nelson?” the farmer asked.
“Did I? Of course I did; wasn’t it intended for—?” The young merchant
glanced furtively at Peters and paused. His handsome, dark face was set
as from some inward struggle.
There was a pause. Peters went toward the front, a written account drying
in the air as he waved it to and fro.
“I was about to ask you if—?” the young merchant started to say, but he
was interrupted by Baker.
“Hush, listen!”
There was the sound of clinking coin on the counter below. The bell on
the cash-drawer rang as the clerk put the money away.
“Thar, I’m even with this dirty shebang!” It was Jeff Wade’s raised
voice. “An’ I kin act when the proper time comes. Oh, you all know what
I’m talkin’ about! Nobody kin hide a thing in these mountains. But you’ll
all understand it better ef it ever comes into yore families. I never
had but one little sister—she was all the Lord ever allowed me to have.
Well, she was married not more’n a month ago, an’ went off to Texas with
a man who believes in ’er an’ swears he will make her a good husband
an’ protector. But no sooner was the pore little thing gone than the
talk set in. It was writ out to her, an’ she writ back to me to stop it.
She admitted it was true, but wouldn’t lay the blame. Folks say they
know, but they won’t talk. They are afeared o’ the influence o’ money
an’ power, I reckon, but it will git out. I have my suspicions, but I’m
not dead sure, but I will be, an’ what I done fer that scrap o’ paper
I will do fer that man, ef God don’t paralyze this right arm. Ef the
black-hearted devil is within the sound o’ my voice at this minute, an’
stays still, he’s not only the thief of a woman’s happiness, but he’s
wuss than a coward. He’s a sneakin’ son——”
Nelson Floyd, his face rigid, sprang up and went into Joe Peters’s little
bedroom, which was cut off in one corner of the store. Opening the top
drawer of an old bureau, he took out a revolver. Turning, he met the
stalwart form of Pole Baker in the doorway.
“Put down that gun, Nelson; put it down!” Pole commanded. “Jeff Wade’s
deliberately set this trap to draw you into it, an’ the minute you walk
down thar it will be a public acknowledgment, an’ he’ll kill you ’fore
you can bat an eye.”
“No doubt,” said Nelson Floyd; “but the fellow has his rights. I could
never draw a free breath if this passes. I owe it to the poor devil,
Pole, and I’ll pay. That has always been my rule. I’ll pay. Stand aside!”
“I’ll be damned ef I do!” Pole stood his ground firmly. “You must listen
to reason. It’s deliberate death.”
“Stand out of the way, Pole; don’t make me mad,” said Floyd. “I’m goin’
down. I’d expect him to pay me, and I shall him.”
“Stop! you are a fool—you are a hot-headed idiot, Nelson Floyd! Listen to
me”—Pole caught the revolver and held on to the barrel of it, while the
young merchant clutched the butt—“listen to me, I say. Are you a-goin’
back on a helpless little woman who gets married to a man who believes
in her an’ goes away off an’ is on a fair road to happiness—are you, I
say, a-goin’ to publicly advertise her shame, an’, no doubt, bust up a
contented home?”
“Great God, Pole!” exclaimed Floyd as he sank on to the edge of Peters’s
bed, “do you think, if I give him satisfaction, it will——?”
“Will it? It will be in every paper from Maine to California. Meddlesome
devils will mark the articles an’ mail ’em to the gal’s husband. A lot o’
folks did the’r level best to bust up the match anyway, by talkin’ to him
about you an’ others.”
Nelson Floyd stared at the floor and slowly nodded his head.
“He’s caught me in a more degrading trap than the other would have been,
Pole,” he declared bitterly. “My conduct has branded me as a coward
and left me without power to vindicate myself. That’s one of the ways
Providence has of punishing a poor devil. He may have a good impulse, but
can’t act upon it owing to the restrictions laid on him by his very sins.”
Pole looked down into the store.
“Never mind,” he said gloomily. “Wade’s gone.”
Floyd dropped the revolver into the drawer of the bureau and went back to
his desk.
“It’s only a question of time, Pole,” he said. “He suspects me now, but
is not sure. It won’t be long before the full story will reach him, and
then we’ll have to meet. As far as I am concerned, I’d rather have had it
out with him. I’ve swallowed a bitter pill this mornin’, Pole.”
“Well, it wasn’t a lead one.” Baker’s habitual sense of humor was rising
to the surface. “Most any sort o’ physic is better’n cold metal shoved
into the system the wrong way.”
There was a step in the store. Pole looked down again.
“It’s old Mayhew,” he said. “I’m powerful glad he was late this mornin’,
Nelson. The old codger would have seed through that talk.”
“Yes, he would have seen through it,” answered Floyd despondently as he
opened a big ledger and bent over it.
Mayhew trudged toward them, his heavy cane knocking against the long
dry-goods counter.
“I’ll have the law on that fellow!” he growled as he hung his stick on
its accustomed nail behind the stove. “No rampageous daredevil like that
can stand right in my door and shoot for mere amusement at the county
court-house. This isn’t a fort yet, and the war is over, thank the Lord.”
Pole glanced at Floyd.
“Oh, he’s jest a little hilarious this mornin’, Mr. Mayhew,” he said. “He
must ’a’ met a mountain whisky wagon on his way to town. Anyways, you
needn’t complain; he come in here jest now an’ paid off his account in
full.”
“What? Paid off? Is that so, Nelson?”
Floyd nodded, and then bent more closely over the ledger. “Yes, he paid
up to date.”
“Well, that’s queer—or I am, one or the other. Why, boys, I had that
fellow on my dead-list. I didn’t think he’d ever raise any money, and if
he did I had no idea it would drift our way.”
Floyd left the desk and reached for his hat. Pole was watching him
closely.
“Post-office?” he asked.
“Yes.” The two walked part of the way to the front door and paused. Joe
Peters was attending a man on the grocery side of the house, and a young
woman neatly dressed, with a pretty figure and graceful movement, stood
waiting her turn.
“By gum,” Pole exclaimed under his breath, “that’s my little neighbor,
Cynthia Porter—the purtiest, neatest an’ best little trick that ever wore
a bonnet. I needn’t tell you that, though, you old scamp. You’ve already
found it out. Go wait on ’er, Nelson. Don’t keep ’er standin’ thar.”
Pole sat on a bag of coffee and his friend went to the girl.
“Good morning, Miss Cynthia,” he said, his hat in his hand. “Peters seems
busy. I don’t know much about the stock, but if you’ll tell me what you
want I’ll look for it.”
Turning, she stared at him, her big brown eyes under their long lashes
wide open as if in surprise.
“Why—why—” She seemed to be making a valiant effort at self-control, and
then he noticed that her voice was quivering and that she was quite pale.
“I really didn’t want to buy anything,” she said. “Mother sent me to
tell Mr. Peters that she couldn’t possibly have the butter ready before
tomorrow.”
“Oh, the butter!” Floyd said, studying her face and manner in perplexity.
“Yes,” the girl went on, “she promised to have ten pounds ready to send
to Darley, but the calves got to the cows and spoiled everything. That
threw her at least a day behind.”
“Oh, that don’t make a bit o’ difference to us, Miss Cynthia,” the clerk
cried out from the scales, where he was weighing a parcel of sugar. “Our
wagon ain’t going over till Saturday, nohow.”
“Well, she will certainly be glad,” the girl returned in a tone of
relief, and she moved toward the door. Floyd, still wondering, went with
her to the sidewalk.
“You look pale,” he said tentatively, “and—and, well, the truth is, I
have never seen you just this way, Cynthia. Have you been having more
trouble at home? Is your mother still determined that we sha’n’t have any
more of those delightful buggy-rides?”
“It wasn’t that—_today_,” she said, her eyes raised to his in a glance
that, somehow, went straight to his heart. “I’ll tell you. As I came on,
I had just reached Sim Tompkins’s field, where he was planting corn and
burning stumps, when a negro—one of Captain Duncan’s hands—passed on a
mule. I didn’t hear what he said, but when I came to Sim he had stopped
plowing and was leaning over the fence saying, ‘Awful, horrible!’ and so
on. I asked him what had happened and he told me—” she dropped her eyes,
her words hung in her throat and she put a slender, tapering, though firm
and sun-browned, hand to her lips.
“Go on,” Floyd urged her, “Tompkins said——”
“He said,” the girl swallowed, “that you and Jeff Wade had had words in
front of the store and that Wade had shot and killed you. I—I—didn’t
stop to inquire of anyone—I thought it was true—and came on here. When I
saw you just then absolutely unharmed I—I—of course—it surprised me—or—I
mean——”
“How ridiculous!” He laughed mechanically. “There must be some mistake,
Cynthia. People always get things crooked. That shows how little truth
there is in reports. Wade came in here and paid his bill, and did not
even speak to me or I to him.”
“But I heard pistol shots myself away down the road,” said the girl, “and
as I came in I saw a group of men right there. They were pointing down at
the sidewalk, and one of them said, ‘He stood right there and fired three
times.’”
Floyd laughed again, while her lynx eyes slowly probed his face. He
pointed at the court-house door. “Cynthia, do you see that envelope? Wade
was shooting at it. I haven’t been over to see yet, but they say he put
three balls close together in its centre. We ought to incorporate this
place into a town so that a thing of that sort wouldn’t be allowed.”
“Oh, that was it!” Cynthia exclaimed in a full breath of relief. “I
suppose you think I’m a goose to be so scared at nothing.”
Floyd’s face clouded over, his eyes went down. A customer was going
into the store, and he walked on to the street corner with her before
replying. Then he said tenderly: “I’m glad, though, Cynthia, that you
felt badly, as I see you did, when you thought I was done for. Good-bye;
I shall see you again some way, I hope, before long, even if your mother
does object.”
As they walked away out of his sight Pole Baker lowered his shaggy head
to his brawny hands, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Fool!” he exclaimed. “Right now with his head in the very jaws o’ death
he goes on talkin’ sweet stuff to women. A purty face, a soft voice an’
a pair o’ dreamy eyes would lead that man right into the fire o’ hell
itself. But that hain’t the p’int. Pole Baker, he’s yore friend, an’ Jeff
Wade is a-goin’ to kill ’im jest as shore as preachin’.”
When Pole left the store he saw nothing of Floyd, but he noticed
something else. He was passing Thigpen’s bar and through the open doorway
he caught sight of a row of bottles behind the counter. A seductive,
soothing odor greeted him; there was a merry clicking of billiard balls
in the rear, the joyous thumping of cues on the floor and merry laughter.
Pole hesitated and then plunged in. At any rate, he told himself, one
drink would steady his nerves and show him some way, perhaps, to rescue
Floyd from his overhanging peril. Pole took his drink and sat down. Then
a friend came in and gave him two or three more. Another of Pole’s sprees
was beginning.
(_To be continued._)
_When Beauty Is a Fatal Gift_
CRAWFORD—It seems to be impossible to convict a pretty woman of a capital
crime.
CRABSHAW—It wouldn’t be if they allowed women to serve on the jury.
* * * * *
_Still Hope_
JAGGLES—Even the doctors can’t kill off the mosquitoes.
WAGGLES—Perhaps they haven’t tried the same methods they use on the human
race.
* * * * *
_All for the Best_
SMITH—What do you think of the outcry against the childless rich?
BROWN—I don’t blame them. Look how their children turn out.
_How I Dined With President Grant_
BY B. F. RILEY
It was in November, 1875. At that time I was a student in Crozer
Theological Seminary, near Philadelphia. The country was just rallying
from the effects of a long and disastrous war, and as the centenary of
the nation would occur the following year, preparations were being made
for the celebration of the event by a great exposition, which was to be
held the next year in the City of Brotherly Love. This was the first
of our great American expositions. It will be remembered that this was
called the Centennial Exposition.
General Hawley, now a senator from Connecticut, was made the
superintendent of this first great national undertaking in the way
of expositions. In order to procure an adequate appropriation from
Congress, General Hawley and the Centennial Commission conceived the
plan of bringing to Philadelphia all the dignitaries and celebrities
from Washington. They were to be shown the grounds and the unfinished
buildings, as well as the scope of the mammoth undertaking. It was
further proposed that the people of Philadelphia should give a banquet
to the distinguished visitors from Washington. This banquet was given in
Horticultural Hall, the only building that was sufficiently completed for
such a function. The sound of thousands of hammers and the swish of many
saws resounded throughout the Centennial grounds in Fairmount Park.
A magnificent train was to bring the distinguished guests from
Washington, and it was to arrive in Philadelphia at a given hour of the
evening. President Grant and his Cabinet, both branches of Congress and
the judges of the Supreme Court were to constitute the excursion. They
were of course the guests of the city of Philadelphia, and on their
arrival were driven direct to the hotels. As might naturally be expected,
such an event and occasion set the city all agog, and the Philadelphia
press was filled with the manner of their coming as well as the purpose.
Public excitement ran high, and the excursion was the subject of
universal comment.
At that time I was an occasional correspondent of two Alabama papers, one
a religious journal and the other a secular one. Aware that this was the
most favorable opportunity I should ever have for seeing so many of our
distinguished men, I resolved to go to Philadelphia, and, if possible,
come into contact with them. No better plan was suggested than to present
myself as a member of the press. I imagined that there would not be the
slightest difficulty in accomplishing this, and that all that was needed
was to represent myself as such, and the opportunity sought of mingling
with the great would be at once afforded. Decking myself in my best garb,
which was none the better for its long service, I hied away to the city,
fifteen miles distant, on reaching which the suggestion of a lean purse
was followed in going to a cheap boarding-house.
After a scanty supper I went to the chief hotels where the great guests
were already arriving, bought an evening paper for two cents, and found
that a committee of citizens had been appointed to give information to
all strangers relative to the trip and the banquet of the next day,
which committee was to be known by the red rosettes which they wore. I
threaded my way as best I could through the jammed corridors of the
hotel, jostling with army officers in brilliant uniforms, and elegantly
dressed statesmen, until one of the committee wearing a rosette was found.
Without apology, and perhaps in rather an assertive way, I began in a
direct manner, telling him who I was, what I was, and what I wanted as
a representative of the Southern press. In reply to his question as to
what papers I represented, I frankly told him, when he asked for my
credentials. But these were in the vocative, and so I could produce none.
He eyed me very closely and with a distrustful look while I sought to
atone for the absence of credentials by telling him that, being in the
city at the time of learning fully of the event, I had not the means of
obtaining the desired credentials. After hearing my statement he told me
that he feared nothing could be done, and bluntly gave me to understand
that he could do nothing. Once again I met him in the jam, but he
declined to notice me, of course.
Going across the street to the other hotel, I mingled with the crowd,
and came upon two members of the committee standing together. I
presented my request to them, and they said that they were members
of the Philadelphia press and gave me a most cordial reception. When
they asked for my authority to represent the Southern papers, and I
had none, they requested my card, but I had not even a card. They were
evidently embarrassed, for they showed a willingness to aid me, but
found themselves unable to do so. After some courteous explanation they
expressed regret at being unable to serve me, and one of them handed me
his card and asked me to apply at Centennial headquarters, on Walnut
Street, the next morning, at eight o’clock, and said that if anything
could be done, they were sure the Commission would be glad to do it.
Some time before eight I was at the Commission headquarters the next
morning, and when the doors were opened I strode in, asking for the
gentleman whose name had been given me the night before, and when I was
presented to him he looked at me with a gaze of curiosity. I told my
story as it had been now several times repeated; he listened with some
impatience, and asked for the credentials. He listened to my explanation
with a frown, which indicated that he thought me a fraud, and saying
that he could do nothing under the circumstances, swung his chair around
and gave me no more heed, until I more than hinted that perhaps I would
be the only correspondent present from the South, and that I felt some
consideration was due me, especially if the Commission cared to have the
people of the South attend on the forthcoming exposition. The question of
the North and South was a sensitive one at that time, and he replied that
the South could come if it desired, and suggested that if I wished to
remain away he did not object. I replied that the South was clearly being
discriminated against in the matter, as representatives of the North were
accorded the consideration which I sought. He demolished me with a single
blow when he said that they came properly accredited.
Nothing seemed left now but to hasten to the hotels and see what could be
done there. I accosted another member of the committee of citizens, but
in no wise succeeded. Already the carriages were drawn up along the side
of the street for several blocks, awaiting the pleasure of the visitors
from Washington to go out to Fairmount Park, where the buildings were
going up. Baffled at every point here, I stepped into the street-car
and reached the park in advance of the procession. Here I met a medical
student from the University of Pennsylvania whom I had met before, and I
told him of my ups and downs, very much to his amusement.
I had now practically given up the hope of being thrown with the national
magnates, but when they began filing through the great incomplete
buildings, and I stood with many others staring at them, without
distinguishing one from the other, there came an hour of growing anxiety,
stronger than before, to know them, at least, by sight. I still felt
within myself that I might succeed in getting into the banquet hall. I
mentioned it to my companion, who sought to dissuade me from any further
effort, and said that it was folly to attempt it. But when I saw the
horses’ heads turn toward the Horticultural Hall, I bade the medical
student good-bye, and scudded across the park through the cutting
November wind toward Horticultural Hall, fully half a mile away. When I
reached it, I found it strongly guarded by three cordons of policemen,
standing about twenty yards apart, and surrounding the building. This
did not inspire much encouragement, and nothing seemed so far away as
the possibility of getting into the hall. Meanwhile the carriages were
arriving, and the distinguished guests were alighting, and going rapidly
into the hall. An eager crowd of gazers stood near where the carriages
stopped and were looking for dear life at everyone as he stepped from the
carriages. One Congressman raised a loud laugh when he leaped out and
said:
“That other fellow is Grant!”
While I was thinking what I might do next, several members of the
committee wearing rosettes were seen coming toward the hall. With some
difficulty I reached them, and the many-times-told tale was repeated
about my being a correspondent from the South, to which they listened
with interest, and said:
“Why don’t you go along in?”
“The policemen,” I said.
“Have you a badge?”
“No,” I innocently replied.
“We are out of them, or we would give you one,” one of the group said.
“Come along with us, and we will take you within the first line and send
someone out to show you in.”
Within the first line of policemen they left me, promising to see to
it that I at once be shown in. Several minutes, that seemed hours,
passed, and apprehensions began to arise that at last I might slip in
my arrangements. My anxiety was quickened by a burly Irish policeman
approaching me with his club, demanding to know what I was doing there.
I assumed a great deal of courage and replied that one of the committee
had left me there on business; and when he threatened to put me out,
I replied rather stoutly that he might get himself into trouble by
tinkering with the official matters of the commission. He used some ugly
language, and said that he knew his business, and that he would let me
stay only a few minutes longer and turned away on his beat. He again
approached me and hinted that I had misled him by my statement, and that
I must “get out right away.”
Just at that moment a gentleman wearing a rosette, and one whom I had
not before seen, appeared at the entrance of the hall and was giving
some directions to policemen about the door, when I hailed him rather
unceremoniously and laughingly told him that I was in a fix and he
must help me out, that I was where the owl had the hen, where I could
neither back nor squall. His face was a perfect interrogation point as he
approached me, and he evidently thought fast while I told him that this
was a funny predicament for a correspondent to be in. He listened to me
throughout and said:
“Why, yes, this will never do,” and, laying his hand on my shoulder, led
me within the first door, and sent someone for somebody else to escort me
into the banquet hall.
A gentleman soon appeared on the scene and asked for that correspondent
who wanted to get in. I told him I was the one, and he took my arm and
led me straight into the hall of banquet. As I passed through suddenly
I came wellnigh coming into collision with President Grant, who was
standing over a grate warming his feet. He stared at me as though he was
afraid I might run over him, and I caught a snatch of a conversation
between himself and another gentleman, who was obviously twitting
the President on the size of his feet by relating an anecdote of a
Congressman on the streets of Washington, who was trying to trade with
a bootblack for a polish, and the shiner of shoes said that the job was
such a big one he would have to take it by separate contracts. At this
bit of pleasantry Grant grimly smiled and said nothing.
The improvised banquet hall was a scene of splendor. The walls were
festooned with flags and bunting and pictures, and the floors at the base
of the walls were adorned with flowers and evergreens, while the long
tables were covered with gold and silver plate, cut-glass and branching
golden candelabra. Running parallel with the wall on the left, on a
raised platform, was a long table with sumptuous adornments stretching
at right angles to the tables below. The seats of this elevated table
fronted those occupying the seats on the floor. Immediately in the centre
of the table was the chair in which John Hancock sat when he presided
over the convention which adopted the Declaration of Independence. This
antique and high-backed piece of furniture was overhung with silken
banners woven into appropriate designs and a field of stars. This was
the seat provided for the President. Just in front of him was an immense
silver laver filled with perfumes, while in the centre was a beautifully
dressed roasted pig.
When the band began playing the guests took their seats, and I sat on
the seat within easiest reach. When I looked over the hall I saw that I
was the only one without a badge or decoration of some sort. Luckily for
me I had a seat near a Congressman from Arkansas, a gentleman who had
been a Confederate brigadier. He was warm in his greetings to a young
Southerner and took great pains to point out to me the most distinguished
of the guests. While we were admiring the dainty souvenirs a negro
waiter borrowed one of mine, promising to return it soon, and when he
disappeared the Congressman said:
“You shouldn’t have allowed that rascal to fool you; he is not going to
bring that back, but wants it for someone else.”
He was correct, for I haven’t seen the negro waiter since.
The banquet lasted more than an hour, and the effects of the champagne
were soon manifest from the increased boisterousness of the guests. So
far as I could observe, I was the only one who declined the wine. When
the cigars were passed the guests dived their hands deep into the boxes
and took hands full and filled their pockets. As I did not smoke, I took
mine to the boys at the seminary who did.
The banquet being over, the toasts began. After a neat speech by the
toastmaster, he announced the first toast: “The President of the United
States.”
It was intended that this should be responded to by Grant, but he sat as
unmoved as a statue. Cheer after cheer rang out, and Grant was called
for in deafening chorus, but he was imperturbable still. My Congressman
neighbor remarked in a whisper:
“Now, wouldn’t I feel ashamed to be unable to say a word in response to
such a demonstration as this!”
As the President would not reply, the other toasts were responded to by
Chief Justice Waite, the historian Bancroft, James G. Blaine, Senator
Oliver P. Morton and one or two others of less distinction.
The scene ended amid vociferous songs, oaths and other expressions of
drunken disorder, which were not calculated to inspire much respect in
the young theological student for the law-makers and statesmen of the
country.
Making my way out of the hall, I found that it was already dark on the
outside. I boarded a street-car and was soon on board a train going
toward Crozer, and at nine o’clock was in my room surrounded by a host of
the boys, to whom I related the experiences of the day, while the smokers
in the crowd smoked my fine cigars.
And that is the way I dined with President Grant.
_The New York Children’s Court_
BY HON. JOSEPH M. DEUEL
_Author of the legislation creating the Court and a Justice therein_
A tribunal with an age-limit for jurisdiction is a modern innovation. For
two years one of that character has been passing through an experimental
stage in the city of New York. It has fully justified its creation. It is
experimental still, in the sense that two years have been insufficient to
exploit all its useful possibilities. They are illimitable. More than any
in the world, the success of this Court depends upon the personality of
the individual who wields its powers; and, however capable, resourceful
and aspiring, he cannot be eminently successful unless back of him stands
a strong, healthy and encouraging public sentiment. This is rapidly
developing as parents come to know that each justice is a willing and
enthusiastic ally, ready at all times to join heartily with them to
correct and encourage the boy or girl who has been tempted to go wrong,
rather than an ordinary minister of justice who measures each infraction
of law with statutory precision.
When it is widely known that the primary object is not one of punishment,
but of municipal and communal salvage, its possibilities for good will
be greatly enhanced. No one has ever sat with its presiding justice
through an entire session without some expression of satisfaction with
the Court and the controlling policy in dealing with wayward youth. Said
a minister of the Gospel recently, at the close of a forenoon session:
“You are doing more good than all the ministers in the city.” This
exaggerated commendation is cited simply to show that the experimental
stage cannot be on the wrong tack when, after careful observation, men
of intelligence give utterance to such convictions. But every member
of the community cannot see and judge for himself, and this article is
designed to give to all a correct idea of the Court, why created, and
its policy in dealing with offenders. Many strangers, upon information
not first-hand, have been somewhat severe in criticism of a supposed
sentimental leniency; they have become warm supporters when brought into
close range with its operations.
No useful purpose will be served by tracing the origin of the Court or
singling out and naming those who were instrumental in its creation. It
came naturally by the process of evolution in the matter of juvenile
legislation. Its advent was timely, for our civic conditions, three
years ago, were breeding criminals more rapidly than at any other time
in our history; and a court to deal solely with the source of criminal
supply was imperatively demanded. One of the strongest arguments at
Albany for the bill was based upon these conditions, and it was urged
that when fairly in progress the prophylactic value of the Court would be
manifested in a reduced crime rate for the city.
No one then anticipated the volume and character of immigrants that have
since deluged our ports. Parents with large families of growing children
have edged into overcrowded tenement centres, where their native tongue
is almost exclusively spoken, and have produced unwholesome social
conditions, that destroy the American theory of home, by packing men,
women and children into one or two small and ill-ventilated rooms. They
are without means of subsistence. The market demand for their labor is
already supplied. No employment at wages can be found, and, however
abundant in that respect may be the prospects in other localities,
here the parents find themselves, and here they insist on staying and
taking chances. Children swarm the streets, not only to get sunlight
and air, but to pick up pennies, from whatever source available, to pay
rent and buy food. And they are to become American citizens under such
circumstances.
The fault is not with parents, who are lured here by golden hopes,
held before them by competing transportation agents, but is with the
governmental policy that permits immigration to go on without intelligent
direction. Possibly these people cannot be induced to go to parts of the
country where there is a demand for the kind of labor they can give, but
their crowding into New York is working endless mischief in the men and
women produced.
The records show that boys and girls who have lived here but a short
time, many less than a year, others one, two and three years, get into
difficulties and find their way to the Children’s Court, some for
serious crimes and others for contravening state or local regulations
of which both parents and child are ignorant. The child stays away from
school to peddle, or beg, or get money in other ways, and, if he or
she succeeds in evading the police, is hunted by a truant officer or
runs foul of a “Gerry” agent. Be the infractions serious or trifling,
they add materially to the volume of child prisoners, swell the inmates
of reformatories, increase the expense of city government and furnish
material for keeping up the army of criminals.
Dr. David Blaustein estimates that the square mile of territory bounded
by the Bowery, Mangin, East Houston and Cherry Streets contains a Jewish
population of 350,000, largely composed of Russian immigrants. If it
contained no other races there would be a superficial area for light,
ventilation, business, recreation and living less than three yards square
for each individual. Now for results. Mr. Coulter, Deputy Clerk of the
Children’s Court, in a published article recently stated that twenty-six
per cent. of child prisoners were of Russian parents, ninety-eight per
cent. of them coming from the lower East Side and the largest majority
from the square mile above mentioned.
The Italian contingent is estimated at 400,000, which yields twenty-four
per cent. of the juvenile arrests. Russian and Italian immigrants have a
predilection for hiving like bees rather than for living like Americans.
They have no inclination to go to those parts of the city where room,
light and ventilation are in abundance, but select a locality where
others speaking the same tongue have settled. Then begins the crowding
process which drives other races from the neighborhood. Children run wild
in the streets, form undesirable associations and become easy victims
to rapacious Fagins everywhere abounding. The parents do not learn our
language with any degree of efficiency, and acquire slight knowledge
of our government, its policies or ideals. Instances occur daily of
witnesses that have lived here fifteen to twenty years who require an
official interpreter to give testimony.
Russian and Italian nationalities furnish more than half of the business
of the Children’s Court. It is not wholly racial, because ordinarily the
Jew is devoted to his family, is law abiding and is not prone to active
crime. Upon this point Mr. Coulter calls attention to the fact that
with an estimated population of 75,000 Jews in the Bronx that borough
furnishes but few juvenile criminals of this race. He might have added
that such as came were of a mischievous or trivial character except
when boys from the congested centres made predatory excursions to that
neighborhood.
The statistics gathered at the Court do not furnish data from which
to compute the length of time delinquents have been in the city. This
is generally brought out in the course of trial or investigation. I
have before me the trial record of several cases of recent occurrence.
In December last Mrs. Rosie Rosenthal, of No. 329 Stanton street,
brought Isidore Weinstein into Court and asked that he be committed as
incorrigible and ungovernable. In the course of the proceedings it was
developed that the boy was so bad at home in Hungary that his parents
sent him here to get rid of him. He came in September, 1904, with a man
living in Nashville, Tenn., stopped one night with the aunt and then
went South. Six weeks later the man shipped the boy back to the aunt
because he was hopeless. Instead of committing him to an institution at
an expense of two dollars a week to the taxpayers, the whole power and
influence of the Court were bent on having him returned to Europe.
Another case was Robert Pries, who pleaded guilty, January 13, to
stealing jewelry valued at one hundred and fifty dollars from a guest in
a city hotel where the boy was employed. He came from Germany alone last
August and had no relatives in this country. He had been a bell-boy at
the hotel three days and used a pass key to commit the offense.
Raffael Basignano, illegitimate, came from Italy last July with a friend.
He was brought up in San Malino by a woman, not his mother, known as
Philomena. She came here, settled at Flushing and then sent money to pay
his passage. She died before his arrival; he drifted to New York, and
then reached the Children’s Court. Efforts to deport these last two are
in progress.
These are types of many coming to this Court for disposition. Taken
in connection with the localities whence comes the largest amount of
business, it may be concluded that two factors are producing prisoners
to an extent dangerously menacing the future good order of this city:
Immigration laws and congested tenement centres. If there be any fault
with the former or in their administration the remedy lies with Congress;
as to defects in the latter we must look both to Albany and the local
government for relief. The Children’s Court is battling against odds not
anticipated when created, and with creditable success. Scarcely a session
passes without definite results, and a parole day never goes by without
some demonstration of the Court’s usefulness.
When the bill to create the Court was pending, its theoretical value
had to be appraised by contrast with the system to be displaced. Its
practical value is better understood by the same method. In fact, no
true conception of its potency and usefulness otherwise can be realized.
Formerly all children charged with crime, delinquency, want of proper
guardianship or found in a state of destitution were taken to the various
police courts. In the matter of guardianship, destitution and some of the
minor offenses the magistrates had power to hear and determine. In cases
of felony and misdemeanor the police court was simply a sieve to separate
those crimes and to send the former to General Sessions and the latter
to Special Sessions for trial. In General Sessions the cases had to be
submitted to a grand jury and, if indicted, a trial followed before a
petty jury.
There were discouraging delays. Few were indicted and scarcely any
convicted. Those youthful offenders on returning home unscathed became
heroes in the estimation of companions; in their own minds they were
immune to punishment because of superior skill and deftness. They did
not understand that escape was due to sympathy. Each became a missionary
in crime to corrupt others; became a chief of admiring associates and
spent his time and energy in devising methods of pillage and robbery.
In consequence organized bands of youthful desperadoes sprang up in
various parts of the city which were known as “de gang.” A vicious boy
with goodly sums of money in his pockets to flash before and spend upon
impecunious associates can do more moral damage in a week than Sunday
schools can correct in a year.
Ten years ago pickpockets in the teens were a rarity; a few years later
frequent arrests made the subject somewhat conspicuous; in 1900 the
arraignment of several in one day in the Essex Market Court was quite
usual. Several youngsters acted in concert, each performed some important
part in the process, and all shared in the spoils: a small percentage
satisfied the younger lads who had slight experience in handling money.
Ready money for theatres and cigarettes, besides something to quiet
parental inquisitiveness, is an alluring bait to a child with slight
moral supervision and guidance—far more fascinating than hard work or
school drudgery and with promises of more freedom and luxury. And it is
such a simple matter to deceive unsuspecting parents who are unable to
speak our language. Besides, the young culprit knows how to weave fairy
tales about some alleged employer that head off all investigations.
It is charitable to assume that confiding parents in their simple
trustfulness have no conception of the temptations to which their
children are subjected, but the facts far too frequently indicate supreme
indifference. I have known fathers of girls just verging into womanhood
to appear in Court and testify that a disorderly house next door, or in
the same building one flight down, was not a nuisance. A father of this
character whose child, boy or girl brings home money never cares to know
its source. If the money comes no questions are asked, or, if asked, the
answers are never verified.
This kind of parent is typical of many now coming here, and it is he
or she whose progeny furnishes business for the Children’s Court and
recruits for the criminal ranks. The youngster having started in with
some weekly amount to carry home had to maintain it. If it was not
available when Saturday came desperate chances were taken which often
resulted in detection and arrest. But conviction and punishment were
rare. Fagins multiplied and recruits were plentiful. Picking pockets with
so many pickers at work was a little overdone and larceny in all its
forms was studied and operated. We soon had the youthful burglar, highway
robber, forger, till-tapper, wagon thief and pilfering employee.
The old system was making no headway against crime, for the simple reason
that it did not effectively operate against the source and lacked the
requisite machinery for dealing therewith. Sympathetic leniency was too
prevalent; the time and thought of judges were taken up with adult cases;
little attention could be given to restraint and supervision. Even if
these judges had the time and the inclination they were powerless because
grand jurors failed to indict and petty jurors could not be persuaded to
convict.
Only recently a grand juror, speaking of his work, criticized a
magistrate for sending a boy of seventeen to trial for larceny because
the amount stolen was but a few dollars; it did not dawn upon him that
the boy was not at fault for stealing so little; he probably took all he
could. It is the thieving propensity in the young, not the amount stolen,
that most vitally concerns the community. The amount, by statute and by
Court custom, is one factor in admeasuring sentence in adult cases; with
juveniles it is inconsequential, and in no way decisive of treatment
after conviction. This is the spirit of the law also that permits
felonious acts to be tried as misdemeanors if committed by children under
sixteen.
Treatment wisely can be determined only with some insight of the boy’s
disposition, knowledge of his tendencies and information of home
environment. In other words, thieving to some extent is a preventable
evil, and the treatment several boys should have may vary as much as a
physician’s prescriptions among an equal number afflicted with a like
physical ailment. The old judicial plan, as it had continued for years,
sent the youngster home without a reprimand or a warning, kept it up
until all too late a hardened and confirmed criminal was the result,
and upon him were visited punitive and vindictive powers. Criminal
propensities are akin to physical appetites in that they become habits
by indulgence. It is easier to keep a boy from smoking cigarettes than
to break him of the habit after long practice. On the same principle a
youthful offender may be checked much easier than a hardened criminal can
be redeemed.
Such were the conditions when the Children’s Court was created, and such
were the principles upon which it was founded. It has been in existence
and operation since September 2, 1902. Its policies, plans and methods,
while not perfect, stand in refreshing and encouraging contrast to
those that preceded, and it is exerting power and influence that may be
measured with some degree of accuracy and satisfaction.
Instead of delay ending in failures, we have promptness bringing results.
Children are not lugged from court to court, often going to each several
times before a hearing; they come up for trial not later than the day
following arrest, and they do not have to return unless convicted; even
then many are permitted to go home with some sense of what they have
done, the reasons making it objectionable and the consequences sure to
follow a repetition. The quickness with which conviction follows the
commission of an offense is of the highest importance; especially if it
be a serious crime, such as larceny, burglary, etc. It is one of the
Court’s most valuable assets.
There is a total suppression of sympathy or sentiment during trial.
The prisoner is arraigned, the charge is explained and then he or she
must plead guilty or not guilty. Each has the benefit of counsel—if
not employed by a parent the Court invariably assigns one; the trial
proceeds at once if the plea is “not guilty,” and at its close comes
acquittal or conviction. During all this time a dispassionate and
methodical inquiry is pursued by strict legal methods, in which the
prisoner has the advantage of every technicality known to criminal
practice. The justice presiding is both judge and jury. He has absolute
control over future proceedings; if there be a conviction, therefore, he
divests himself entirely of pity or prejudice. With him it is simply the
elucidation of facts by strict legal evidence and reaching a conclusion
that is logical and just. There are objections and rulings, demurrers
to pleadings, motions for new trials and motions in arrest of judgment.
Frequently some bright boy defendant watches the progress of the trial
with interest and learns something which, never injurious, may be of
advantage. The sad and possibly harmful thing is that he is on trial for
a crime; and yet that one feature may save him from a disastrous career.
The time for pity, sympathy and sentiment on the part of the justice
comes when he pronounces the defendant guilty. Then the character and
attitude of the man upon the bench undergo a complete change, for a
duty far transcending that of weighing facts and reaching conclusions
now devolves upon him. This duty is to determine what to do with the
youngster who has been convicted, and upon this question the greatest
mistakes may be made; it is the one that weighs most heavily on the
conscience of the Court and is the most perplexing to the judicial mind.
The controlling principle in the solution is, what is best for the boy
is best for society; he must either be committed to some reformatory
presided over by persons of like religious faith as the parents, or he
must be permitted to return home. Either course may be dangerous. To
commit may blast his future; to release may be iniquitous to him and
a positive menace to others. In order to decide the judge must learn
all that is possible about the individual; his habits, disposition,
associations, reputation, home environment and previous record. If the
boy attends school his record there is obtained; if at work the opinion
of the employer is sought, but in a way not to produce injury. Happily
the law upon this subject permits the Court to get information through
any channel, not even gossip, rumor or hearsay is excluded. In many cases
several days are necessary to gather the material upon which the Court
finally acts.
The majority of the cases do not require postponement for this purpose.
The records of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children are
so complete and instantly available as to enable us to know at the close
of the trial whether there has been a previous conviction, which is of
the first importance. If there be none, a suspended sentence or a parole
generally follows, for it is believed that with the majority better
results are obtainable through fear under freedom than by discipline
under restraint.
There is a misunderstanding in the public mind, and unfortunately with
some of the police officers, as to “suspended sentence.” It means that
criminal punishment is not then inflicted, but may be the following
week or month or some time thereafter, but will not be so long as the
youngster is of good behavior. The boys understand that they will not be
molested so long as no bad report reaches the Court, and the most of them
act accordingly. Quite recently several on parole for engaging in street
stone fights were separately asked what they did during the epidemic of
stone battles that broke out in January. They replied that they ran home
and stayed there while the fight lasted. A suspended sentence is quite
apt to work in the same way with most boys, for a second conviction would
surely disclose the former, and punishment then is severe.
Occasionally a boy is sent to an institution on his first conviction as a
safeguard against parents whose depravity and shameless indifference are
positively detrimental, and sometimes a child is permitted to go home
and remain so long as the mother avoids drink. Good work has been done in
both directions—the boy removed from iniquitous surroundings, or these
mended through parental affection.
A child is rarely committed for the first offense, no matter how serious
it may be; there is a remand to the Society for its officers to gather
and report information of the individual and environment, and then
sentence is deferred and the child put on parole. He goes home with an
opportunity to earn a suspended sentence by his individual conduct, which
covers a wide range. It is intended to correct every bad trait; evil
associations are to be avoided; staying away from home nights must cease;
conduct everywhere—in the house, on the streets and at school—must be
exemplary. During this time he is under the supervision of the parole
officer, to whom there must be a report each week and at the end of the
period—four, five or six weeks—appearance and report in Court. If a
high standard of excellence is reached, sentence is suspended; if there
is improvement, parole is continued; if the boy continues in his old
ways, sentence is imposed, or there may be a short parole with certain
commitment at the end if a radical change is not shown.
By these means the boy sees that others are interested in his welfare,
and he gets encouragement in all directions, for neighbors, noting the
change, treat him accordingly. Frequently he gets sufficient satisfaction
out of the experience to determine that he will continue in the same way,
and in all cases he learns what he can do by exercising self-control; it
never works harm and often produces most gratifying results. I mention a
few as indicative of many within the experience of every justice holding
the Court.
In October last a widow had her only child, a boy of fourteen, taken
into custody by the police for absolute incorrigibility; he stayed out
nights, associated with bad companions, would not work and was rude and
insolent. On the following morning the mother appeared in Court to press
the charge under oath and insisted that the boy be committed forthwith.
The usual practice was followed; the boy was remanded to the Society and
an investigation ordered; the report confirmed everything the mother
had alleged, and the few days of separation had in no way changed her
determination to have the boy committed, for, as she declared, she was
completely discouraged, and he was past redemption. Something about the
boy led me in the opposite direction and I said to her, “I think we had
better give this young man just one more chance,” and, turning to him, I
said, “Don’t you think so, my boy?”
“Yes, Judge,” was the quick response.
After some conversation with the mother, who finally relented, a five
weeks’ parole was ordered. On the return day both were in Court. The
boy, tidy in appearance, stood erect and looked me manfully in the eye
as he took his place before the bench. The parole officer’s report, in
writing, told me that immediately following parole the boy had secured a
position in a hardware store, and by industry, attention and intelligence
had obtained a voluntary promise of increased wages; that he had spent
his evenings, during parole, at home, which the mother confirmed and with
moistened eyes she added:
“I could not ask for a better boy, and we are both happy.” The boy
had found what he could do by trying, and was satisfied. It would be
difficult to determine which was the prouder and happier, the mother or
son, as they left Court together.
A disorderly boy at school, and an habitual truant, coming up for
commitment asked me to try him on parole. He came back a month later
with a school certificate of 100 per cent. in attendance and deportment.
A father brought his boy of fourteen to Court for commitment because of
prolonged disobedience, which could not be corrected by chastening; he
was a nuisance in the neighborhood and the complaints sent to the house
had utterly destroyed paternal confidence. He was put on parole against
the father’s protest. A month later the father reported a satisfactory
change, which, as the parole officer’s report stated, had been noticed by
the neighbors. On request the parole was continued for a month, when the
report of father and parole officer showed almost perfect conduct. On the
father’s special request the parole period was extended two months. While
these are exceptional cases they are by no means rare.
From this extreme there is a gradual shading downward to the point
of absolute hopelessness, when the subject is turned over to the
disciplinary methods of a reformatory. During the year 1904 out of 1,098
paroles 170, or 15½ per cent., were subsequently committed, which shows
satisfactory results of 84½ per cent. Nineteen hundred and three was a
trifle better with its 1,117 paroles, of which 13⅕ per cent. refused to
be benefited. But if one-half of the lads can be redeemed or kept within
reasonable bounds during character formative period, the Court will prove
a success, and intelligent citizens will regard the parole system as
worthy of continuance and extension. It is harmful to none and gives each
a fair chance to test self-reliance and manhood; it does not injure the
boy past redemption, but simply postpones commitment, and is a wholesome
demonstration to him that his misfortune is of his own choosing.
The boys generally understand that but one chance can be expected, and
coming back a second time on a serious charge the benefit of parole
will be withheld. This is not an inflexible rule. If there are good
prospects a second or even a third parole would not be refused. But there
must be more than mere possibility to secure a second and exceedingly
strong assurances for a third parole. One good test of its beneficence
is the frequency with which parents ask that it be extended rather than
terminated; always on the same ground that the boy is better behaved at
home and at school, and is more careful of his associations.
There is another factor that gives the boys considerable worry and
serves somewhat as a deterrent: the “Gerry Society,” with its complete
up-to-date record running back for thirty years. When the time comes for
pronouncing judgment a Society representative—one or more always being in
Court—is called upon for the record of the boy and his family. This is
given in his presence, and sometimes involves older brothers or sisters.
So that the youngster goes out of Court convinced that it is impossible
to hide any misdeed. The services of the Society and its officers are of
inestimable value in the conduct of this Court.
A feature of the Court which would occur only to one who is a frequent
visitor and careful observer of its proceedings is that of a practical
kindergarten in civics to those most in need of instruction. As to
offenses involving moral turpitude—larceny, burglary, picking pockets,
etc.—the child and the parents know the act is wrong and why it calls
for arrest and punishment. But this is not true of a great many arrests;
possibly one-third of those made during any year. There are many acts
forbidden in a crowded city that would be unobjectionable elsewhere. An
arrest is sure to bring to the Court a surprised and indignant parent.
Such acts come under the classification _mala prohibita_ and include
bonfires, ball playing, craps, cat, throwing missiles, jumping on and off
street cars, truancy, peddling, etc. It is for the justice to explain why
the act is condemned and forbidden.
Bonfires may be taken as an illustration. Many arrests were made on the
day of the last election, and each boy confessed that the fires were
political. The boys assiduously gather fuel for days in advance and will
burn it election night, whoever is elected. The lads were commended for
political zeal, and were asked whether they wanted to become good or
bad politicians. The answer, of course, was “good,” and then they were
informed that they had started out wrong, because a good politician
always studied how to save the people from needless expense; that fires
on asphalt pavement ruin an area that may require twenty-five, fifty or a
hundred dollars to repair, which has to be raised by taxation, and some
portion of it each individual boy or man must pay either directly as a
property owner or indirectly in the increased cost of rent, clothing,
fuel, groceries and other purchases. Other matters are explained on
similar lines, and often the eyes of some youngster will brighten as the
explanation proceeds and at its close he will say, “I didn’t know it
was so bad; I’ll never do it again.” Such a boy rarely comes back on a
second charge. These explanations are not made purely for instruction,
but to inform the child that behind all law interdicting ordinary acts
there are good reasons and to state them so as to come within youthful
comprehension.
The child is not the only beneficiary, for the English-speaking parent
absorbs some of the information, and each goes away knowing why it is
unlawful to build bonfires, play crap or ball, or do other things which
result in arrest. When time permits, the non-English-speaking parent
gets his information on these topics through the official interpreter.
To punish a child, or through him the parent, for an act when neither
understands why it is forbidden, is extremely distasteful; but such
instances occur, and punishment is inflicted because it is the only
method for impressing clearly on their minds that the act must not be
repeated.
Thus far boys only have been mentioned; but a like method of treatment
applies to girls whenever there is occasion, which is not often.
Fortunately for the world in general and this city in particular,
the female sex is far less prone to crime and venality. This is
specially prominent in the Children’s Court, for, eliminating improper
guardianship—neither boy nor girl being responsible therefor—girl
prisoners constituted but four per cent. of the cases. In the police
courts women make up twenty per cent. of arrests. There were but
thirty-eight girl defendants in a total of 1,055 larcenies, six in a
total of 2,870 disorderly conduct cases, two in the 50 robberies, two in
197 assaults, two in the 346 burglaries; of the three attempts at suicide
all were girls. It may truthfully be said that womankind is the crowning
glory of the race and the sheet-anchor of progressive civilization.
Much time is consumed with questions of improper guardianship, of which
during the year there were 1,983 cases; during 1903, 1,582. These
complaints are rapidly increasing, partially because of ignorant and
indifferent aliens. But the machinery for dealing with such matters is
so much better than formerly existed that more attention is given to
the subject. During the year preceding the establishment of this Court
there were but 539 such cases in the seven City Magistrates’ courts of
this division. There is greater firmness in dealing with them than with
some transgression of the child. While the subject of inquiry is under
sixteen years of age the cases practically are of parental adjudication;
the fathers and mothers are on trial, and it is one or the other that
is disciplined if the complaint is well founded. If the evil be drink,
which is true as to many of the cases, it sometimes may be overcome if
parental affection and desire to retain custody of the child are well
developed; if in surroundings coming within parental means to correct
or in restraint and supervision which parents neglect to exercise, the
objection is overcome with most parents by a warning. While testing
sincerity and ability the child is permitted to remain at home. In this
way children are given approximately fair opportunity to develop proper
and becoming tendencies. The world would be tremendously shocked if it
could know how many of its criminals, paupers and vagrants are caused
primarily by home environment and improper parental conduct.
A short time since a visitors’ book was opened at the Court and in it
those who remained long enough to form an opinion have given expression
thereto. In closing I append the following excerpts:
“A life-saving station”; Morris K. Jesup, president New York Chamber
of Commerce. “Profoundly impressed with an institution in which there
is the highest promise”; Bishop Henry C. Potter. “It does one good to
appreciate how great an advance has been made as is evidenced by such
courts”; Seth Low, ex-Mayor of New York. “The spirit of Christianity
practically expressed”; Rev. Wm. C. Bittings. “A most pathetic and
interesting scene”; R. Fulton Cutting. “A superb illustration of
sanctified common sense and of applied religion”; Rev. R. S. MacArthur.
“The Court is doing most excellent work”; George L. Rives, ex-Corporation
Counsel. “A practical application of justice and Christian charity”; Dr.
Norman Fox, ex-Mayor of Morristown. “Impressed by the hopefulness of
the Children’s Court”; Adolf Hartmann, Berlin. “The best work is always
the preventative work”; Rev. W. Merle Smith. “One of the best of the
city’s methods of improving the conditions of the future citizens of
New York”; Chas. R. Lamb. “A long step in advance in social progress”;
Rev. Gaylord S. White. “This Court should be better understood”; Wm. T.
Woods. “The work this Court is doing in sustaining the discipline of the
Department of Education is invaluable”; Frank H. Partridge. Hon. Jacob
H. Schiff, Rev. Rufus P. Johnston, Rev. E. S. Holloway and several other
well-known citizens have visited the Court since the book was opened, but
unfortunately their entries are so mixed with personal compliment as to
make reproduction here inappropriate.
Arguments on behalf of the Court from those officially interested in
its success are not needed when its ordinary sessions call forth such
commendations from representative men.
_What Buzz-Saw Morgan Thinks_
BY W. S. MORGAN
Much of our modern civilization is nothing more than refined savagery.
The yellow metal kills more people than the yellow fever.
Harmony is simply stopping the wheels of progress to get rid of the noise.
Saying that a thing is settled does not settle it.
All old party roads lead workingmen to roam.
Shall our financial system be American or British?
Don’t surrender until you see the size of the enemy—and then don’t
surrender.
A man must open his eyes in order to see even as bright an object as the
sun.
Corruption in the best form of government makes it the worst of all.
The trusts owe their existence to yellow-dog politics.
With the control of the currency turned over to the bankers, it will be
in order to allow the hawks to feed the chickens.
The independent vote is a nightmare to the yellow-dog politician.
The Beef Trust is living in constant defiance of the law. It is a greater
menace to the rights of the people than a thousand highwaymen.
Democratic statesmanship has gone to seed, and the seed has germinated
into a howl.
Jefferson and Jackson placed the mark of Cain on bank money, and the
bankers have never been able to remove it.
The men who talk the most about “sound money” and the “nation’s honor”
are the greatest tax-dodgers.
Take the corporation lawyers out of the important offices in this
country and about two-thirds of them would be vacant.
The banker has no more right to regulate the quantity of currency that
shall be used by the people than he has to limit the number of cattle
that shall be raised.
Enforced poverty is taking many a man out of the ranks of yellow-dog
politics and making an independent voter out of him.
It always gives me a pain in the left hind foot to hear a man who wears
a hoot-owl look on his face, a quid of tobacco in his mouth and a
double-barrel patch on the bosom of his pants talk about “money that is
good in Yurrop.”
About the only thing that Bryan can reorganize out of the Democratic
Party is a bob-tail flush, and that is just what the Republicans want him
to do.
A stand-patter is a fellow who is too lazy to move, or who has plenty of
feed in his own trough and doesn’t care for anyone else.
The Beef Trust might possibly make good its plea of innocence, were it
not for the fact that it has been “caught with the goods.”
The cotton growers who met in New Orleans in January decided that the
Wall Street “bear” was worse than the Texas weevil.
Yellow-dog politics is the spirit that moves a man to ride to hell in
a two-wheel cart drawn by the Democratic mule or Republican elephant,
rather than to go to heaven by the independent route.
It is gratifying to know that a real effort is being made to “control”
the railroads. The failure of such an effort is the best evidence that
it can’t be done. Then will come public ownership.
The government has no more right to farm out to the bankers the privilege
of issuing money than it has to grant to a few rich farmers the exclusive
privilege of breeding short-horn cattle.
It is said that gold furnishes a stable currency, but history teaches
that it is the most cowardly money ever used. In time of war, when it is
needed most, it hides itself and paper money fights the battles.
The glory of war is a relic of barbarism. It differs only in form from
the ghoulish dances of the aborigines, or the fiend-like performances of
the Dervishes. “War is hell.” Its spirit is of the devil. Nine-tenths of
the wars could be avoided. They are caused by the selfishness of man.
In this day of progress and invention no man can define radicalism. That
which appears radical today is conservative tomorrow. The leaven of a
higher and better civilization is working in the hearts of the people,
and the day of emancipation from false systems draws near.
In the past ten years in this country the railroads have killed and
crippled more people than all the wars in which this government was
ever engaged. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, and then howl against
government ownership.
It is urged that the greenbacks should be retired, because they
constitute an “endless chain” to deplete the gold reserve in the
Treasury. It should be remembered that no one ever uses the “endless
chain” but the bankers. The people don’t want the gold; they would rather
have the greenbacks, and they will take them without any gold behind
them. The way to break the “endless chain” is to abolish the gold reserve.
Bryan seems bent on building up a straw party for the Republicans to
knock down. In doing so he is playing into the hands of the Republicans,
and he is using some good men for straw. He is doing just what the
Republican bosses want him to do. Whether he has sense enough to see it,
does not alter the situation. Every move he makes tends to divide the
Democratic Party and help the Republicans.
The bold and brazen bag-barons of the Beef Trust will in all probability
find some way to dodge the injunction issued against them. There is an
old saying that runs something like “catch your cottontail before you
cook it,” or words to that effect. If there is no change in prices of
cattle and beef, you may rest assured that the beef barons are still
robbing the people at both ends of the line.
For thirty years I have heard this talk of the better class of men in
the Democratic Party getting control of it and bringing it back to its
old-time moorings, but the party is in a much worse condition today than
it ever has been before. That there are good men in it, no one will
attempt to deny. The rank and file of the party are honest and sincere,
but the party is controlled by the most unscrupulous set of buccaneers
that ever existed, and, under the system of primaries and conventions,
the people have no more show to win against the professional politicians
than a goose would have in a running match with a red fox. The party
is not only divided and demoralized, but it is disgraced in the eyes
of the people. The attempt of the party in the recent campaign to ape
the methods of the Republican Party as practiced by Mr. Hanna in 1896
and 1900, and its bid for Wall Street support, were despicable beyond
description. A party that has for years laid claim to being a reform
party, that will stoop to such contemptible methods, deserves not only
the distrust of the people, but their everlasting condemnation.
_The Heritage of Maxwell Fair_
BY VINCENT HARPER
SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
Maxwell Fair, an Englishman who has amassed a colossal
fortune on ’Change, inherits from his ancestors a
remarkable tendency to devote his life to some object,
generally a worthy, if peculiar one, which is extravagantly
chivalrous, even morbid. The story opens with Fair and Mrs.
Fair standing over the body of a man who has just been shot
in their house—a foreigner, who had claimed to be an old
friend of Mrs. Fair. Fair sends her to her room, saying:
“Leave everything to me.” He hides the body in a chest, and
decides to close the house “for a trip on the Continent.”
Fair tells the governess, Kate Mettleby, that he loves
her, that there is no dishonor in his love, in spite of
Mrs. Fair’s existence, and that, until an hour ago, he
thought he could marry her—could “break the self-imposed
conditions of his weird life-purpose.” They are interrupted
before Kate, who really loves him, is made to understand.
While the Fairs are entertaining a few old friends at
dinner, Kate, not knowing that it contains Mrs. Fair’s
blood-stained dress, is about to hide a parcel in the chest
when she is startled by a sound.