THE HARRISON STREET POLICE COURT
_A night in jail--A rapid-fire judge--The young lady is not so
positive--The psychology of justice--What's the matter with
Jasonville?--I tell my story to his Honor_
[Illustration: _Feeling that I had come to the end of things in Chicago
mighty quick._]
There was a greasy bench at one end of number twelve, where I sat myself
down, feeling that I had come to the end of things in Chicago mighty
quick. A measly gas-jet above the door showed what a stinking hole I had
got myself into. I could hear the gambling party across the way,
laughing and talking, taking their lot rather easily. Pretty soon a man
was put into the cell next mine. He kept groaning about his head. "My
head!" he would say, "oh, my head! My head! oh, my head!" until I
thought my own head was going wrong.
I wondered what had become of Hostetter. Apparently he had cleared out
when he saw his chance friend getting into trouble. Perhaps he thought I
had been working with our smooth acquaintance all along. Then I thought
what a fool I had been to give my real name and home to the
desk-sergeant. To-morrow the wise ones down in Jasonville would be
calling Van Harrington bad names all over again, and thinking how clever
they had been.
Some bad-smelling mess was shoved at me for supper, but I had no stomach
for food, good or bad. The jail quieted down after a time, but I
couldn't sleep. My mind was full of the past, of everything that had
happened to me from the beginning. Only forty-eight hours before I had
been tramping my way into the city, as keen as a hungry steer for all
the glory I saw there ahead of me under the bank of smoke that was
Chicago. Boylike, I had looked up at the big packing-houses, the
factories, the tall elevators that I passed, and thought how one day I
should be building my fortune out of them as others had built theirs
before me. And the end of that boyish dream was this bed in a jail!
* * * * *
The next morning they hustled us all into court. I was crowded into the
pen along with some of the numerous Smiths and Joneses who hadn't been
able to secure bail the night before. These were disposed of first in
the way of routine business, together with a few drunks and
disorderlies. There were also in the pen some sickly-looking fellows
who had been taken up for smoking opium in a Chinese cellar, a woman in
whose house there had been a robbery, and a well-dressed man with a
bandage over one eye. He must have been my neighbor of the bad head.
The court room was pretty well jammed with these prisoners, the police
officers, and a few loafers. The air smelled like a sewer, and the
windows were foul with dirt. The judge was a good-looking, youngish man,
with a curling black mustache, and he wore a diamond-studded circlet
around his necktie. Behind the judge on the platform sat the young woman
whose purse I was accused of stealing, and her father. She saw me when I
was brought into the pen, but tried not to let me know it, looking away
all the time.
When I arrived on the scene the judge was administering an oath to a
seedy-looking man, who kissed eagerly the filthy Bible and began to
mumble something in a hurry to the judge.
"Yes, I know that pipe dream," his Honor interrupted pleasantly. "Now,
tell me the straight story of what you have been doing since you were
here last week."
"You insult me, Judge," the prisoner replied haughtily. "I'm an educated
man, a graduate of a great institution of learning. You know your
Horace, Judge?"
"Not so well as the revised statutes of the state of Illinois," his
Honor snapped back with what I thought was a lack of respect for
learning. "Two months. Next!"
"Why, Judge--"
There was a titter in the court room as the graduate of a great
university was led from the pen. His Honor, wearing the same easy smile,
was already listening to the next case. He flecked off a stray particle
of soot that had lodged on the big pink in his buttonhole as he remarked
casually:--
"Is that so? Twenty-five dollars. It will be fifty the next time."
The judge nodded blandly to the prisoner and turned to my neighbor of
the night, the man who had had so much trouble with his head. I was
getting very uneasy. That smiling gentleman up there on the bench seemed
to have his mind made up about most folks beforehand, and it didn't seem
to be favorably inclined this morning. I was beginning to wonder how
many months he had me down for already. It didn't add to my peace of
mind to see him chatting genially with the old gentleman and his
daughter as he listened to the poor criminals at the bar.
His Honor went on disposing of the last cases at a rapid rate, with a
smile, a nod, a joke--and my time was coming nearer. The sweat rolled
down my cheeks. I couldn't keep my eyes off the young lady's face;
somehow I felt that she was my only hope of safety. Finally the judge
leaned back in his chair and smelled at his pink, as if he had 'most
finished his morning's work.
The clerk called, "Edward V. Harrington." I jumped.
"Well, Edward?" the judge inquired pleasantly as I stood before him.
"The first time we have had the pleasure, I believe?"
I mumbled something, and the store detective began to tell his story.
"Is that it, Doctor?" the judge asked the old man.
"Why, I suppose so--I don't know. He was caught in the act, wasn't he?"
Then, as the old man sat down, he added peevishly: "At least, that's
what my daughter says, and she ought to know. It was her purse, and she
got me down here this morning."
"How about it, miss?" the judge asked quickly, wheeling his chair the
other way and smiling at the young lady. "Did you see the prisoner here
take your purse?"
"Why, of course--" She was just going to say "yes" when her eyes caught
mine for a moment, and she hesitated. "No, I didn't exactly see him,
but--" her look swept haughtily over my head. "But he was very close to
me and was stooping down just as I felt a jerk at my belt. And then the
purse was gone. He must have taken it!"
"Stooping to beauty, possibly?" the judge suggested.
"Stooping to pick up the lady's handkerchief, which I saw her drop," I
ventured to put in, feeling that in another moment I should find myself
blown into prison with a joke.
"Oh! So you were picking up the lady's handkerchief? Very polite, I am
sure!" His Honor glared at me for an instant for the first time. "And
you thought you might as well take the purse, too? For a keepsake, eh?"
He had wheeled around to face me. A sentence was on his lips. I could
feel it coming, and hadn't an idea how to keep it back. I looked
helplessly at the young woman. Just as his Honor opened his mouth to
speak, she exclaimed:--
"Wait a moment! I am not sure--he doesn't look bad. I thought, Judge,
you could tell whether he had really taken my purse," she ended
reproachfully.
"Do you consider me a mind reader, miss?" the judge retorted, suspending
that sentence in mid-air.
"Let him say something! Let him tell his story," the young lady urged.
"Perhaps he isn't guilty, after all. I am sure he doesn't look it."'
"Why, Sarah!" the old gentleman gasped in astonishment. "You said this
morning at breakfast that you were sure he had stolen it."
Here the detective put in his oar.
"I know him and the one that was with him--they're old sneaks, your
Honor."
"That's a lie!" I said, finding my tongue at last.
"Good!" the judge exclaimed appreciatively. "I am inclined to think so,
too, Edward," he went on, adjusting his diamond circlet with one finger.
"This young lady thinks you have a story of your own. Have you?"
"Yes, I have, and a straight one," I answered, plucking up my courage.
"Of course," he grunted sarcastically. "Well, let's have it, but make it
short."
It did sound rather lame when I came to tell what I had done with myself
since I had entered the city. When I got to that part about the house
where Ed and I had been disturbed by thieves, the old gentleman broke
in:--
"Bless my soul! That must be the Wordens' house. The officer said there
were two suspicious characters who ran away up the boulevard. This
fellow must be one of them. Of course he took the purse! You know the
Wordens, don't you, Judge?"
His Honor merely nodded to the old gentleman, smiled at the young lady,
and said to me:--
"Go on, young man! Tell us why you left home in the first place."
I got red all over again at this invitation, and was taken with a new
panic.
"Who are your folks? What's the name of the place?" the judge asked
encouragingly.
"Jasonville, Indiana."
"What's the matter with Jasonville, Edward?" he asked more sharply. "Why
do you blush for it?"
"I had rather not tell with all these folks around," I answered, looking
at the young lady.
* * * * *
His Honor must have found something in my case a little out of his
ordinary experience, for he took me back into his own room. He got me
started on my story, and one thing led to another. His manner changed
all of a sudden: he no longer tried to be smart, and he seemed to have
plenty of time. After that long night in the jail I wanted to talk. So I
told his Honor just how it had been with me from the beginning.