FREE AGAIN
While Bob's champion, unknown to the boy, was interesting himself in his
cause, Bob was sitting on a little iron bunk his cell contained, staring
about him as though unable to comprehend the situation.
After a few minutes he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor,
and then he was suddenly aroused from his reverie by a voice exclaiming:
"Well, kid, you came near making a good-sized bit of money."
"I don't call a dollar a very large sum," retorted Bob.
"A dollar? What do you mean?" exclaimed one of the two men whom Bob
beheld standing outside the cell door, staring at him through the bars.
"You had seven hundred and fifty dollars of that countryman's money,
didn't you?"
"I saw seven hundred and fifty dollars of his money put in the envelope,
but all I was to get for holding the envelope until those bad men
returned was to be one dollar--and they didn't even come back to pay me,
and now I haven't delivered the groceries, and Mr. Dardus will be very
angry."
"Oh, ho! So you are Len Dardus' kid, are you?" queried the other of
Bob's inquisitors.
"I'm not his kid, but he is my guardian," corrected the lad in a voice
so full of reproach that the two men could not refrain from smiling.
"Then you don't like Dardus?" smiled the one who had addressed him
first.
"I think he is unreasonable," returned Bob.
"Yes, and none too honest," commented the other.
With the various methods known only to the police detectives of the
large metropolitan police forces, the two men put Bob through a grilling
examination, trying in every possible way to scare him into admitting
either a knowledge of who the swindlers were, or of direct complicity in
the confidence game, but without being able to shake his story, even in
the slightest detail.
Loath as the police officials were to admit Bob's innocence, his
straightforward answers and manly manner finally convinced them that he
was, as he had said, entirely guiltless, and they withdrew.
As they returned to the outer room of the police station, the sergeant
looked at them questioningly.
"That boy had nothing to do with the swindle," announced one of the men
who had been examining Bob.
"That's what," confirmed the other. "If there ever was an honest boy in
New York, that poor little chap back in the cell is one. If you take my
advice, sergeant, you will let him go, and you will change the entry on
your police book from 'Arrested and Held for Complicity,' to 'Held for
Examination'."
"What's the matter with all you guys, anyway?" snarled the sergeant, as
he saw that the weight of opinion was against him. "Has the boy
hypnotized you? It's enough to convict him that he should be working for
Len Dardus."
"That isn't his fault," returned the officer who had advised the
sergeant to change the entry in his book. "His mother and father died
when he was three years old, and his father provided in his will that
Dardus should be his guardian, though from what the boy has told us, he
hasn't had any too happy a time of it, poor little shaver."
"Now don't go turning on the sympathy," growled the sergeant. "I don't
care whether the boy is guilty or not. All I know is that we have got to
make a case against him. It would never do to have it said that two
sharpers could rob a countryman in broad daylight in our precinct.
Haven't our reports to headquarters said, and haven't the papers said,
that our precinct has been free from all such crimes for more than six
months, and this is one of the rawest swindles that has been worked for
a long time. So you two get busy and fix up your case if you want to
stay in this precinct. If you don't, I'll tell the captain and the
inspector, and you will be sorry."
Without response, the two officers, who believed in Bob's innocence,
turned on their heels, and started toward the door of the police
station.
"Hey, you two! Go down to the court. I am going to send this boy right
down, and mind you remember what I told you," shouted the sergeant. And,
suiting his action to his words, he gave orders for Bob to be brought
from his cell and taken to the police court.
Just as Bob appeared in the outer room of the station house, Foster
entered.
As he saw the boy whose cause he had espoused, the reporter exclaimed:
"So you have decided to release him, have you, sergeant?"
"Release nothing," growled the official. "He's on his way to court," and
then, as he had read from the expression on Foster's face that his
mission to interview Len Dardus had not been altogether satisfactory,
he continued: "You found I was pretty near right about old Dardus,
didn't you?"
"He surely isn't a very agreeable person," answered the reporter, "and I
quite agree with you that if there was money enough in the undertaking,
he would never stop to question whether or not it was against the law.
But I tell you one thing, sergeant, you are dead wrong about the boy.
The old man actually hates him."
"Then it would be an easy way for him to get rid of the kid by getting
him into just this kind of a mess."
"Maybe you're right," assented Foster, as this theory was announced,
"still I don't believe you are. I am more convinced than ever that the
boy had nothing to do with the swindle, and I don't think old Dardus
did, either."
"Well, it won't help matters to keep arguing about it here. We'll let
the judge decide. McCarty, call a patrol wagon, and take the kid to
court."
"Oh, I say! you are surely not going to make that kid ride in the patrol
wagon?" protested one of the other newspaper men. "That would be rubbing
it in too hard."
Emphatically the others added their protest, and in the face of such
opposition, the sergeant countermanded his order for the police wagon,
and instead instructed Patrolman McCarty to take the boy to court,
which was less than two blocks away.
Surrounded by the reporters, Bob and the patrolman walked down the
street, closely followed by the countryman, whose desire to make money
without working for it had led to the loss of the seven hundred and
fifty dollars.
Arrived at the building in which the court was located, Bob was led away
to the detention room, to await the calling of his case, while the
reporters and Simpkins made their way direct to the court room.
In due course the case was reached.
When the presiding magistrate caught sight of Bob's sad face, the stern
expression on his own countenance relaxed, and he bestowed upon the
trembling boy a glance full of encouragement.
Noting this, Foster, who had been watching the judge intently, was
inspired with the hope that the boy would be quickly discharged. But his
pleasure was only momentary, for, as the magistrate read the charge, his
face became even more austere than usual.
"Well, Chester, what have you to say for yourself?" demanded the judge,
directing a glance at the boy, as though he would pierce his very soul.
"Are you guilty, or not guilty?"
[Illustration: "WELL CHESTER, WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"
_Bob Chester's Grit_ Page 24]
The strangeness of the scene and lack of familiarity with the
procedure of a court caused Bob to remain silent.
Again the magistrate repeated his question, but still Bob made no reply.
"I think he wants to plead guilty," interposed one of the plain-clothes
men whom the sergeant had ordered to make a case against the boy.
"Perhaps if you offered to give him a light sentence if he would tell us
who the two men are who got away with the money, he would do so."
"How about that?" demanded the magistrate, again directing his gaze at
the boy.
But before Bob had a chance to reply, Foster exclaimed:
"He does not want to plead guilty, your honor. This whole business in
dragging this boy to court is an outrage. He had no more knowledge of
the fact that those men intended to, or were, swindling this man from
the country, than you have."
The tone in which the reporter spoke was one that could not fail to be
impressive, and after a moment's hesitation, the magistrate, who knew
Foster as a reporter and admired him for his manly fearlessness, asked:
"What do you know about the case?"
"I protest, your honor, that this man should not be allowed to interfere
with the case," said one of the plain-clothes officers. "He was not a
witness of the transaction. I think it would be more proper to hear
Simpkins' version of the affair."
"When I wish your advice, officer, I will ask for it," snapped the
magistrate, and turning again to Foster, he said:
"Tell me all you know about this business."
"Thank you, your honor, I will:
"I happened to be in the police station when the boy was brought in. He
told a straightforward story about having been on the way to deliver
some groceries, when he was hailed by one of three men, who asked him a
few questions, and then offered him a dollar if he would hold an
envelope, which was supposed to contain twelve hundred and fifty
dollars, for a few minutes. The thought of earning such a sum of money
so easily evidently caused the boy to forget all discretion. But as the
minutes went by and the two men did not reappear, the boy grew restless,
and finally suggested that he hand the envelope to Officer McCarty here,
and that he be allowed to go about his errand of delivering the
groceries. Then----"
Interrupting, the magistrate turned to Simpkins, and demanded suddenly:
"Is that true?"
The question was so unexpected that the countryman was surprised into
answering truthfully, and replied:
"Yes, sir."
Realizing that the turn of affairs was making them appear ridiculous,
the officer who had suggested that Bob be allowed to plead guilty, and
receive a light sentence, if he would divulge the name of the two
swindlers, hurriedly exclaimed:
"But the boy has a bad record, your honor."
"That is not so, your honor," retorted Foster hotly. "When I found that
the sergeant was determined to hold the boy, I went to the man for whom
he works--his name is Len Dardus--and made inquiries about him. Mr.
Dardus is his guardian, and though it was evident that he had no love
for the boy, the worst he could say about him was that he took a half
hour to deliver an order that should have been delivered in twenty
minutes. As to his associating with bad companions, that is not so, for
his guardian said he was never out at night, always preferring to read."
"If the boy is such a paragon of virtue, why didn't his guardian come to
court himself and try to help the boy, instead of leaving it to a
reporter?" sneered the officer who was trying so hard to make a case
against Bob.
"I tried to get him to come," exclaimed Foster, "but he refused on the
ground that he could not leave his store."
"You reporters are certainly good ones at putting up a plausible story,"
retorted the officer contemptuously.
Striking his desk a sharp rap with his gavel, the magistrate exclaimed:
"When I want to hear from you, sir, I will let you know. You would make
a far better impression if you and the sergeant and every other
available man connected with the precinct were out searching for the two
swindlers, instead of trying to send a poor, almost friendless, lad to
prison. If you arrested half as many criminals as you do innocent men,
it wouldn't take long to rid this city of crime."
So stinging was this rebuke that the reporters were busy writing down
the words of the judge, and before they had finished, the magistrate
said:
"Does your guardian treat you well, Bob?"
"Why, sir, I suppose so, sir; but he scolds me a lot. He seems to think
that every time he sends me out to deliver an order, that I should come
back within a quarter of an hour, no matter whether I have to go one
block or twenty."
"How much does he pay you?"
"Two dollars a week, sir."
"What do you read at night?"
"About farming and ranching out West, sir."
"Then you want to go out West?"
"Yes, sir. I'm going just as soon as I have money enough. I have saved
ten dollars already towards going."
"Huh! What becomes of your charge that the boy has evil associates, Mr.
Officer?" snapped the magistrate, as he heard Bob's reply. "Any boy who
earns two dollars a week, and has managed to save ten, surely can't have
any bad habits.
"Bob, you are discharged. The disgrace to which you have been subjected
of being arrested and brought to court is an outrage, and I wish there
was some way that you could obtain redress from the officers who
subjected you to it, but unfortunately there is not."
Reaching into his pocket, the magistrate drew forth some bills, from
which he selected one of the denomination of five dollars, and handed it
to Bob.
"Put this with your ten dollars," he continued. "It will help some
toward getting you out West, and now you go back to Mr. Dardus, and tell
him that Judge Bristol said that your arrest was an outrage. Clerk, call
the next case."
If Bob had been bewildered by the circumstances that had led to his
being brought to court, he was still more so with the sudden turn in
events that had resulted in his release, and it was not until one of
the court attachés good-naturedly advised him to leave the court room as
soon as he could, that he realized he was again free.
But in his haste to obey, he suddenly remembered the reporter whose
interest in him had been of such assistance, and he stopped and looked
about the courtroom for him. But Foster and the other reporters were
busy telephoning the story to their papers, and repeating the
magistrate's scathing rebuke to the police of the precinct and the city,
so that Bob could not see them. And, after lingering a moment or so, he
finally decided to return to his guardian without more delay, promising
himself that he would search out his champion and thank him another
time.