JAIL LIFE
The manager of the minstrel company was, and quite naturally, in a high
state of excitement when his people were marched off to the lock-up.
If he was not able to raise sufficient money to pay for the railroad
tickets, it was useless to think he could satisfy the claim which
alleged justice had against the men.
To remain there even for twenty-four hours without giving a performance
would result in utter bankruptcy, and in case he was willing to desert
the company he did not have money enough to go out of the town, except
by leaving the baggage behind and walking.
An hour after the now saddened minstrels had been lodged behind the
bars the manager called upon them.
"I've been trying to chin that old fool of a squire into letting you
off for this evening, so's we can give a show, but he won't listen to
anything of the kind," the visitor announced in a disconsolate tone.
"If you could rope off the yard and put up some seats we might perform
behind the bars. Advertise that the gentlemen composing the greatest
aggregation of minstrel talent in the known world will attempt the
difficult feat of playing themselves out of jail."
This suggestion was made by the "funny" man of the party, but the
distressed manager failed to see in it anything witty or comical.
"Can't some of you fellows suggest a plan?" he asked.
"Announce that we are to lay off a short time in order to--to--well
anything you can think of."
"That is no plan at all; it would look rather fishy to reorganize twice
in one week."
"Say that we are studying our parts for a realistic drama, entitled
'Would You put Yourself in Their Places.'"
"Now see here, boys, this isn't a thing to joke about. We must give a
show to-night, and the question is how can it be done?" the manager
asked in a tone of despair.
This was what no one could answer.
It surely seemed as if the squire had been prompted by an unkind fate
to lay the heavy hand of the law upon this particular branch of the
minstrel business, in order to deter others from traveling in the same
path, and to prevent this company from inflicting stale jokes upon the
public.
Finding that the chief performers could not suggest a way out of the
difficulty, the manager took Jet as far aside as the size of the cell
would permit.
"How much money have you got?" he asked in a whisper.
"None that belongs to me. The five dollars I loaned you was put in my
hands for an especial purpose, and I really had no right to dispose of
it as I did."
"But if you've got enough to pay these fines, I'll promise faithfully
that you shall have every cent we take in until the full amount is paid
back. There isn't any risk, my boy, for we shall certainly do a big
business here."
Although Jet had had but little experience in this line, he knew that
the receipts at the door, even if the small hall should be filled,
would not amount to enough to settle the bills, and from it must
necessarily be taken sufficient to carry the party to the next town.
"I haven't got half as much as you need, and if I had it would be wrong
to use it."
"Then you intend to pay your own fine and give us the slip, eh?"
"I should have a perfect right to do so, because I took no part in the
stealing of the fruit; but I shall stay with the rest."
During the next ten minutes the manager pleaded in vain with the boy,
and then recognizing the uselessness of his arguments, left the
building in a pet.
Meanwhile the members of the company did not look upon the imprisonment
as such a very great hardship.
"Say, who has to pay our board while we are here?" one of the party
asked the jailer.
"I reckon it'll come on the town."
"Then so long as it costs us nothing, what's the use of repining?" and
the man started a song, in which he was joined by his companions, until
the dilapidated building fairly shook with the alleged melody.
As a matter of course, this had the effect of drawing the idle ones to
the jail doors, and the applause from the outside induced a continuance
of the free concert.
All those who could show any right to enter the building crowded in,
and among them was the constable whom Jet had recognized.
While his companions were amusing the visitors and themselves, he edged
along as near this particular man as he could without exposing himself
too freely, and during the pauses between the songs he was fortunate
enough to overhear the following conversation between the fellow in
whom he was interested and a brother constable:
"You've been away quite a while, eh, Jabe?"
"Only three weeks."
"Where was you?"
"'Tendin' to some private business."
"I thought when a man was elected constable he'd got to stay 'round in
case he might be needed."
"I didn't ask for the office, an' don't intend to loaf here when
there's a chance of makin' a dollar outside."
"What have you been up to?"
"That's my own business."
"Of course it is, Jabe; but I know you're makin' money somehow, an' it
seems as if you might give me a show."
"Well, I can't. I had a good thing for a while, but it's busted now."
If Jet had had any doubts as to the identity of the man they would have
been dispelled by this last remark, and he listened eagerly for a
continuation of the conversation.
"Got company up to your house, ain't you?" the inquisitive party asked.
"How'd you know that?"
"Some of the folks said you brought some friends back."
"It seems as if the people in this town had nothin' better to do than
watch their neighbors."
"Then it is true?"
"I've got an old friend visitin' me for a spell, but he's sick now, an'
we don't want folks 'round to disturb him."
"That must be Bob," Jet said to himself. "Perhaps he was wounded, and
has come here to stay till he gets better. Now, how can I send word to
Mr. Harvey?"
This was the one important thing to do in view of what he had learned,
but it would be necessary that none of the townspeople should see the
letter, and the manager of the company was so angry with him that it
was a question if he would attend to the matter.
He seated himself in one corner of the room, where his face could not
be seen plainly, and waited for this particular constable to leave the
building.
In about an hour the prisoners tired of giving a free concert, and,
finding they were not likely to be amused any longer, the visitors took
their departure.
From one of his companions Jet begged a few leaves out of a note-book,
from another he borrowed a pencil, and thus equipped he sat down to
detail what he thought was important news.
"Sending for money to pay your fine, Jet?" one of the party asked
jokingly, and this caused the others to think of what they might do.
"I reckon a good many of us had better try the same game," a second man
said seriously. "The manager can't get us out of the hole, and we may
as well begin to hustle for ourselves."
"It won't cost much to do it," Jet replied, thinking that if a number
of letters were sent from the jail his would attract less attention.
Nearly all the party concluded to make the attempt, and a call was made
upon the turnkey for envelopes.
Jet offered ten cents to pay for the same, and in a short time the
note-book was stripped of its leaves as each prisoner set about making
a written appeal for funds.
The question of postage was next raised, and to this Jet was forced to
respond, in order that his missive should be sent without delay.
By the time the letters had been made ready, the member of the company
who came over on the cars with the manager paid his companions a visit,
and, quite naturally, agreed to post the mail matter.
Now that he was reasonably certain Harvey would soon know the exact
condition of affairs, Jet felt very light-hearted. It seemed almost
positive he had stumbled upon Bob's hiding-place, and if such should
prove to be the case, the second man implicated in the murder must be
captured within a few days.
Shortly before mid-day the squire came over to interview his prisoners.
It was possible he had been figuring the cost to the town in case this
party of twelve should remain contentedly in jail; and perhaps he was
beginning to believe the sentence too severe when taken in the
aggregate.
"Your manager has been tryin' to talk me into lettin' you fellers out,"
he began, assuming a friendly tone and air. "I told him that justice
couldn't be tampered with, an' have come 'round to see what you're
goin' to do 'bout payin' the fines."
"Squire, did you ever try to get blood out of a stone?" one of the
party asked.
"What has that got to do with it, eh?"
"Nothing, except that it would be as easy to bleed a rock as to get
cash from them who are flat broke."
"But, bless my heart, you can't stay here forever, you know."
"It depends on you. If the manager has made any kind of a fair offer I
advise you to accept it, for it will cost something to feed this crowd,
and I don't suppose you would care to take the responsibility of
starving us to death."
The squire wiped the perspiration from his face, although the room was
by no means warm.
"If you could pay somethin' on account, an' give bonds for the rest----"
"I don't believe you could scare up a dollar among the whole of us, and
as for bonds--who would sign them?"
"But you can't expect me to let you go free after robbing a man's
orchard, an' bein' sentenced in a regular court?"
"Certainly not, and for that reason we have settled down to the belief
that we shall be your guests a very long while."
"If I should let you out long enough to give a show, would you come
back here?" the squire asked after a long pause.
"Who would get the money taken at the door?"
"It would go toward payin' your fines."
"That's a matter we shall have to discuss, for it isn't a pleasant
lookout to give a performance for the benefit of your court when we
need money so badly ourselves."
"I'll come back in an hour an' get your answer," the squire replied
with considerable show of dignity, as he left the building.
Jet was distressed at the thought that it might be possible the fines
would be paid in a short time, for then he could make no excuse for
loitering about the town, and even if he should do so there was every
reason to believe the constable he was eager to have arrested would
recognize him.