The boy had no recollection afterwards of what occurred during the long
period which intervened between this hour and that remote one in which
he saw again his father’s face. How long the darkness lasted and what
happened in it he could not tell. He prayed continuously until his
flesh ached and his mind grew frail. Yet in the midst of that which
seemed to be without a limit, in the midst of an anguish that seemed to
have no end, it was borne in upon him that the daylight had come back
again.
Thereafter he had a vague knowledge of cold water, other rooms, other
voices, more light, and more air. At last he came to understand
that he was in the midst of a large place which contained many
street-persons who looked very solemn and wore no hats. Far away in
front of him he seemed to discern a high desk, at which was seated
an elderly street-person with grey hair, a shining bald head and
impressive manners. Seated on either side of him were a number of women
in gay and beautiful clothes. There was also a number of those odd
beings whom he had come to recognize as police constables. And then
quite suddenly he saw his father’s face.
The pale, noble and serene countenance was looking up at him. It was
pervaded by that secret and beautiful smile which the boy had seen so
many times upon it. With a little convulsive shudder of recognition the
boy started to run to his father, but as he made to do so he awoke to
the discovery that he was enclosed in a kind of cage.
“My father, my father!” the boy called out.
“Keep quiet,” said a police constable beside him in a rough whisper.
The elderly grey-haired man at the high desk lifted up his head in a
startled manner, and looked about him.
“Remove that man from the court,” he said.
He thrust out a finger straight at the boy’s father. With his heart
beating faint and small, the boy watched his father vanish out of his
ken. He passed out through a side door in the custody of two immense
police constables.
“My husband, Lord Pomeroy,” said a woman who sat next to the elderly
man with the grey hair and the impressive manners, “my husband, Lord
Pomeroy, is much displeased that my purse has been stolen, and he would
be here personally to express his displeasure had he not been commanded
to Windsor unexpectedly.”
These words, very loudly spoken, seemed to provoke a kind of joyful
flutter in the breasts of all present. Even in the breast of the boy
it provoked a flutter, yet not perhaps of a similar kind. It was the
sound of the loud and harsh voice itself which to him was of sinister
omen. As in an agony of remembrance he felt what this voice denoted,
the blood ran as water in his veins.
“I am sure, Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair in a most silken
manner, “in your misfortune you are entitled to every sympathy from
this court. May it trust that there was nothing of great value in your
purse.”
“Oh dear, _dear_ no!” said the woman emotionally, “there was nothing
_whatever_ in my purse, but I can’t _live_ without it.”
“Quite so, just so,” said the man with grey hair. “The court
appreciates that perfectly. It feels you are entitled to every
sympathy.”
“Pray what is the use of sympathy, my dear good man,” said the woman
petulantly, “if it doesn’t restore my purse?”
“Precisely, dear Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair, “your
concern for your purse is most natural.”
At this stage in the proceedings the man with grey hair gave a kind
of benevolent signal to a sedulous-looking man, whose hair was very
glossy, who sat immediately opposite to him, and who at this moment was
engaged in sharpening a lead pencil.
“But, dear Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair, speaking very
slowly and with his eye fixed on the man opposite, “sympathy is not
necessarily barren, even if it is not fertile of visible result.”
Upon the utterance of these words, an extremely intellectual looking
police constable, who was stationed in the centre of the crowded room,
broke into a sudden and totally unexpected guffaw of laughter, which
he turned into a cough with equal suddenness and great dexterity. His
action incited the row of gaily dressed females to give vent to a
little melodious cackle. These in turn seemed to incite the man who
had been sharpening the lead pencil to write furiously. And all these
portents having assured the man with grey hair that his memorable
utterance had passed into history, he composed his features into a form
of polite expostulation that words so trivial should have achieved that
destiny.
Much passed between the woman with the loud voice and the man with the
grey hair and the impressive manners. All, however, went unheeded by
the boy; for during the whole of the time he stood clutching at the
wooden rail by which he was surrounded, in order to save himself from
measuring his length on the floor. To every other person in the court,
however, the intercourse of the woman with the loud voice and the man
with grey hair seemed to be fraught with a high significance.
Presently the constable who stood beside the boy gave him a sharp nudge.
“Now then,” he whispered truculently. “Pull yerself together. His
washup is a-speaking to you.”
The boy was able to observe that the man with grey hair and impressive
manners was wagging a short and fat forefinger in his direction. He
also appeared to be speaking with a kind of stern deliberation, but the
boy failed to appreciate a word that he said.
This homily, however, proceeded for some time; and in the course of it
all present were much impressed. The man with grey hair and impressive
manners concluded his discourse somewhat in this fashion: “Owing
to the humane clemency which has been exhibited by Lady Pomeroy, a
clemency, I may say, which is so familiar among all grades of society
as to stand in need of no advertisement from this court”--(“Hear,
hear,” in a suppressed but perfectly audible whisper from a voice at
the back)--“there is no undue desire to press this charge. William
Jordan, as this seems to be the first occasion on which you have
appeared before this court, and as I am informed that no record of
a previous conviction stands against your name, you will at the
express desire of Lady Pomeroy”--(“Hear, hear,” from the voice at the
back)--“be dealt with under the First Offenders Act. After entering
into recognizances to come up for judgment if called upon, you will
be discharged. It is deemed advisable, however, that you should have
an interview with the police court missionary. In conclusion I hail
this opportunity of tendering the most sincere thanks of the public to
Lady Pomeroy”--(“Hear, hear,” from the back)--“for the public-spirited
manner in which she has come forward to discharge a duty which must
have been peculiarly distasteful to her.”
While the row of gaily dressed women rose wreathed in smiles, and
formed a cordon round the man with grey hair and impressive manners, in
order to shake hands with him, the boy was led into an adjoining room.
In the next instant he was shuddering convulsively in the arms of his
father.
A sad-looking man with cadaverous cheeks and sunken black eyes came up
to them. With an odd kind of compunction he laid his hand on the boy’s
sleeve.
“What is _he_ doing here?” he said.
The boy’s father enfolded the questioner in his secret and beautiful
smile.
“You ask a question which admits of no answer,” he said.
At the sound of the voice of the boy’s father, the man with the
cadaverous cheeks recoiled a step. His sallow face flushed a little.
With the _naïveté_ of a child he peered into the eyes of the boy’s
father.
“I think, sir,” he said, with a curiously humble gesture, “I think you
are perfectly right.”