Any Court with jurisdiction in divorce proceedings draws an audience
peculiar to itself.
Every Court Room has, of course, its individual devotees. For instance
"Dutch Pete" is accustomed to the corner bench in Part XV. and would not
change it for any other sleeping quarters, and even the migratory
loafers seem to know and respect old "Lawyer" Brady's seat in Trial Term
Part XX.
But, with divorce matters on the calendar, Special Term Part I. appeals
to a particular class. One can recognise its women out in the Rotunda
long before they turn toward the haven, and one can almost feel its
moist and clammy type of man.
To see the women with their hard faces well nigh intelligent with
curiosity--their long necks and ears turned to catch each salacious
morsel--is a sight to sicken every man with memory of a mother. To watch
the flabby-jowled, pimply persons of the masculine gender, their
drooling mouths fashioned to a grin, and their perspiring hands
clutching the soiled and soiling newspapers, is to understand the cynic
who protested that "the more he saw of men the better he liked dogs."
"Mr. Harding," said the Justice, as the arguments in _Fenton_ vs.
_Fenton_ closed, "it seems to me the defendant has made out a reasonable
case. As you have said, this matter rests wholly in the discretion of
the Court, and although we hold the parents joint and equal guardians of
their children and do not follow the old world rule that a father has a
superior claim to the possession of his offspring, yet, as it seems to
me, this is a case where that rule should apply. Mrs. Fenton has left
her husband's house without just cause, as he alleges. She makes no
claim for his support, and the complaint, as has been shown, is
deficient in its detail. If I am wrong, a trial will set the matter
right. In the meantime I award the possession of the children to the
father. If you can agree with Mr. Sargent upon the terms of the order,
I will make such provision for occasional visits of the mother as
justice may----"
A scraping of chairs and rustling of skirts drowned the closing words of
the Judge and Sargent turned to see a woman entering the Court Room with
two little children at her side. She walked directly toward the
counsel's table, and the restless eye-lashes of the unsexed "painted"
her in rapid sweeping glances, now up--now down--and the fat-paunched
leerers followed her with looks scarcely less offensive.
"My child, you should not have come here," whispered Mr. Harding, as he
rose and offered her his chair.
She was scarcely more than a girl, but her tall graceful figure bespoke
a quiet dignity, and the grey eyes with their steady gaze told of
developed character.
Sargent glanced at his client. Fenton must have seen the doubt expressed
in the lawyer's face, for he spoke up sharply.
"Let's finish this business, Sargent. I suppose I can take the children
now."
But his counsel did not answer, and Fenton, growing impatient, addressed
the Court.
"Your Honour, these are my children--I suppose I may take them now?"
The Judge, busy with the signing of papers, frowned but took no other
notice of the questioner.
Mrs. Fenton laid her hand on Mr. Harding's arm and almost shook it as
she asked,
"What does he mean? What--does--he--mean?"
How the necks stretched and the ears strained to catch the counsel's
answer!
But he whispered to the woman at his side, who, with her arms thrown
about the children, seemed oblivious of the eyes glutting themselves
upon her.
"Impossible!" she kept repeating, "it is impossible!"
The old lawyer shook his head gravely and glanced uneasily at the
defendant. Again he whispered to the young wife, speaking rapidly and
stopping her interruptions with the pressure of his hand upon her arm,
till at length she burst out in a frightened undertone,
"But I tell you it is impossible! It _shall_ not be done!"
Sargent rose and crossed to where the two were talking.
"Pardon me for interrupting," he said to Mr. Harding, "but I apprehend
this decision is a surprise to Mrs. Fenton. Can we not arrange that the
matter shall go no further?"
"Gladly, Sargent, but how?"
"I am authorised by my client to withdraw this motion if Mrs. Fenton
will discontinue her case."
Mr. Harding looked at the fair face turned toward him.
"You understand," he said. "This is Mr. Sargent,--your husband's
attorney."
With a gesture, half terror and half disdain, the young mother drew the
children closer to her side and Sargent felt the hot blood flying to his
cheeks. But she seemed only conscious of Mr. Harding's presence as she
answered him.
"Does he dare offer to bribe me with my own children? It is monstrous!"
Mr. Harding glanced sadly at the younger lawyer as the latter turned
again to his impatient client.
"She won't consent?" muttered Fenton. "Nonsense! You've worked the
smooth business right enough, Sargent, but we've won the motion and done
the decent. Now knock things about. You've got to scare her half out of
her wits----"
Sargent's face flushed.
"I think you are mistaking her," he said. "I know you are mistaking me."
"Good Lord--man, don't get mussy just when everything's in our own
hands. We've got to push it through now or never. Why--damn it," he
whispered fiercely, "don't you understand we can't defend this case?
We've got to bluff her out!"
The word "we" stung Sargent as though someone had slapped his face. Yet
he was associated with this man. Associated for what purpose--to do
what? His client's angry outburst had made it plain enough.
Fenton saw the glance of scorn in his lawyer's eyes.
"I'll be my own attorney then--and a damn sight better one," he muttered
and turned toward the group at the other end of the table.
"Well, now, let's have the children--Come, kids."
He rose and took a step forward. As he did so his wife sprang to her
feet and faced him. He stopped with an uneasy laugh before the splendid
figure of the woman drawn up to her full height, and met her measured
look of courage and contempt. Then he turned again toward his counsel,
speaking in an ugly undertone.
"See here, Sargent, I'm not going to make a fool of myself before all
these people. Get the officers to bring the children out to the
carriage."
But Sargent did not reply, and for a moment there was dead silence in
the Court Room.
Fenton stooped toward his counsel.
"What do you think you're paid for?" he whispered menacingly.
What was he paid for? That was plain talk--that made the truth stand out
clearly! He was the hireling of this man--not his associate. He was
hired to do contemptible work and he had done it,--was doing it. No
wonder his employer stood ready with insult to show how he despised his
creature. It was perfectly safe. An officer of the Court was bound by
professional duty and gagged by confidential communications. He must sit
still and see this outrage on Justice perpetrated. Even aid in it. And
for what? For money. How far had he sold himself--how much of his
manhood was included in the purchase? He could retire from the case?
Yes, after the day's dirty work was finished and the wrong could not be
righted.
If he raised his hand to stop this thing, how many lawyers in the City
would uphold him? Not many in the Titan Building. It was easy to
foreshadow the construction which would be placed upon his conduct. He
could almost hear the fierce denunciation. To defend himself he would
have to violate professional secrecy still further. True, there were
those who would understand--men to whom their calling was and always
would be "the honourable profession of the law"--men who would never
permit the Law's mantle of dignity to become a cloak for the vicious.
But the others--"the high average"? Had he the courage to face their
verdict?
Perspiration poured down Sargent's face and his hand shook with
suppressed wrath as Fenton rose and again addressed the Court.
"I presume your Honour will enforce your order? I don't wish to make a
scene."
The Justice looked inquiringly at the lawyers, but neither of them made
any sign.
"Madam," he said at last, "I have awarded your husband the custody of
his children pending this action. You will kindly put no obstacle in the
way of the execution of my order."
The chairs of the leerers grated on the floor with eagerness, and the
skirts of the shameless shivered with delicious tremors.
Ah--this was worth coming for! A woman's tenderest feelings were to be
exposed and crushed. Privacy was to be invaded--delicacy was to be
unveiled--the sacred was to be handled. Ah--this well repaid the
waiting!
Mrs. Fenton flushed as the Judge addressed her, and then grew ashy pale
as she answered.
"You have no right, no man has any right, to dispose of my children.
They shall not leave me! I will not permit it!"
The Judge glanced at the bulging eyes and gaping mouths of the audience
and frowned angrily.
"Officer," he said sharply, "take those children and deliver them to the
defendant."
There are moments when the Bar does not envy the Bench.
As the Judge's words reached her, the young mother leaped to her feet
and swept the children behind her. Then she backed toward the wall and
crouched there like some magnificent wild thing, trembling with that
mingling of terror and courage which warns the fiercest beast to
caution.
"Let him," she panted, hoarsely, "let him come--come and take them
if--if he dare!"
Mr. Harding rose and stepped toward the woman, laying his hand gently
upon her arm. She gazed at him for an instant with no recognition in her
eyes, then flung her arms about his neck and laughed the hideous
shuddering laughter of hysteria.
Here was entertainment indeed! A red-letter day in the annals of the
audience! To-morrow the Court Room would be packed with expectants--all
the floating population of the Rotunda would be on hand.
The Judge seemed to think of this.
"Remove that woman!" he ordered.
A court officer stepped forward, and at the same time Fenton moved
toward the children.
Then Sargent's voice broke the stillness of the Court.
"If your Honour please, I wish to withdraw the motion in this case."
There was a moment of absolute, breathless silence.
Then Fenton sprang to his feet.
"Withdraw?" he almost shouted. "What do you mean? This is my case. It's
been decided in my favour. I won't permit it!"
Sargent only addressed the Court as he answered,
"Nevertheless, I withdraw the motion."
The Justice looked steadily at the lawyer's face, and his gaze was not
without a trace of approval.
"I must warn you, Counsellor," he said at length, "that this is very
unusual. It is a most serious matter."
"I will take all responsibility, your Honour."
"Very well, Mr. Sargent. You consent, I presume, Mr. Harding? I am not
sure that I have the power, but if not, the error can be corrected by
appeal. Mark the motion, 'withdrawn.'"
"This is treachery!" Fenton shouted at his lawyer. "I'll have you
disbarred, Sir! You'll lose every client you've got----"
"But I'll keep my self-respect," answered Sargent, in a whisper.
"I'll have you disbarred, Sir!--I'll ruin you utterly. Your Honour,
he's conspired with the other side--he used to be in their office. I can
prove----"
"Clear the Court Room!" thundered the Justice.
* * * * *
Outside in the Rotunda the audience placed Sargent on trial and
straightway condemned him. In legal circles his conduct was denounced,
eulogised, and on the whole deplored.
But the Court of Conscience (hear the cynic mutter "Court of last
resort!") held him guiltless, and from its judgment there is no appeal.