But Carter Watson was stubborn. He was convinced that the machine would
beat him, but all his days he had sought social experience, and this was
certainly something new.
The morning of the trial the Prosecuting Attorney made another attempt
to patch up the affair.
“If you feel that way, I should like to get a lawyer to prosecute the
case,” said Watson.
“No, you don't,” said the Prosecuting Attorney. “I am paid by the People
to prosecute, and prosecute I will. But let me tell you. You have no
chance. We shall lump both cases into one, and you watch out.”
Judge Witberg looked good to Watson. A fairly young man, short,
comfortably stout, smooth-shaven and with an intelligent face, he seemed
a very nice man indeed. This good impression was added to by the smiling
lips and the wrinkles of laughter in the corners of his black eyes.
Looking at him and studying him, Watson felt almost sure that his old
friend's prognostication was wrong.
But Watson was soon to learn. Patsy Horan and two of his satellites
testified to a most colossal aggregation of perjuries. Watson could not
have believed it possible without having experienced it. They denied
the existence of the other four men. And of the two that testified, one
claimed to have been in the kitchen, a witness to Watson's unprovoked
assault on Patsy, while the other, remaining in the bar, had witnessed
Watson's second and third rushes into the place as he attempted to
annihilate the unoffending Patsy. The vile language ascribed to Watson
was so voluminously and unspeakably vile, that he felt they were
injuring their own case. It was so impossible that he should utter such
things. But when they described the brutal blows he had rained on poor
Patsy's face, and the chair he demolished when he vainly attempted to
kick Patsy, Watson waxed secretly hilarious and at the same time sad.
The trial was a farce, but such lowness of life was depressing to
contemplate when he considered the long upward climb humanity must make.
Watson could not recognize himself, nor could his worst enemy have
recognized him, in the swashbuckling, rough-housing picture that was
painted of him. But, as in all cases of complicated perjury, rifts and
contradictions in the various stories appeared. The Judge somehow failed
to notice them, while the Prosecuting Attorney and Patsy's attorney
shied off from them gracefully. Watson had not bothered to get a lawyer
for himself, and he was now glad that he had not.
Still, he retained a semblance of faith in Judge Witberg when he went
himself on the stand and started to tell his story.
“I was strolling casually along the street, your Honor,” Watson began,
but was interrupted by the Judge.
“We are not here to consider your previous actions,” bellowed Judge
Witberg. “Who struck the first blow?”
“Your Honor,” Watson pleaded, “I have no witnesses of the actual fray,
and the truth of my story can only be brought out by telling the story
fully--”
Again he was interrupted.
“We do not care to publish any magazines here,” Judge Witberg roared,
looking at him so fiercely and malevolently that Watson could scarcely
bring himself to believe that this was same man he had studied a few
minutes previously.
“Who struck the first blow?” Patsy's attorney asked.
The Prosecuting Attorney interposed, demanding to know which of the two
cases lumped together was, and by what right Patsy's lawyer, at that
stage of the proceedings, should take the witness. Patsy's attorney
fought back. Judge Witberg interfered, professing no knowledge of any
two cases being lumped together. All this had to be explained. Battle
royal raged, terminating in both attorneys apologizing to the Court and
to each other. And so it went, and to Watson it had the seeming of a
group of pickpockets ruffling and bustling an honest man as they took
his purse. The machine was working, that was all.
“Why did you enter this place of unsavory reputations?” was asked him.
“It has been my custom for many years, as a student of economics and
sociology, to acquaint myself--”
But this was as far as Watson got.
“We want none of your ologies here,” snarled Judge Witberg. “It is a
plain question. Answer it plainly. Is it true or not true that you were
drunk? That is the gist of the question.”
When Watson attempted to tell how Patsy had injured his face in his
attempts to bat with his head, Watson was openly scouted and flouted,
and Judge Witberg again took him in hand.
“Are you aware of the solemnity of the oath you took to testify to
nothing but the truth on this witness stand?” the Judge demanded. “This
is a fairy story you are telling. It is not reasonable that a man would
so injure himself, and continue to injure himself, by striking the soft
and sensitive parts of his face against your head. You are a sensible
man. It is unreasonable, is it not?”
“Men are unreasonable when they are angry,” Watson answered meekly.
Then it was that Judge Witberg was deeply outraged and righteously
wrathful.
“What right have you to say that?” he cried. “It is gratuitous. It has
no bearing on the case. You are here as a witness, sir, of events that
have transpired. The Court does not wish to hear any expressions of
opinion from you at all.”
“I but answered your question, your Honor,” Watson protested humbly.
“You did nothing of the sort,” was the next blast. “And let me warn you,
sir, let me warn you, that you are laying yourself liable to contempt by
such insolence. And I will have you know that we know how to observe the
law and the rules of courtesy down here in this little courtroom. I am
ashamed of you.”
And, while the next punctilious legal wrangle between the attorneys
interrupted his tale of what happened in the Vendome, Carter Watson,
without bitterness, amused and at the same time sad, saw rise before him
the machine, large and small, that dominated his country, the unpunished
and shameless grafts of a thousand cities perpetrated by the spidery
and vermin-like creatures of the machines. Here it was before him, a
courtroom and a judge, bowed down in subservience by the machine to a
dive-keeper who swung a string of votes. Petty and sordid as it was, it
was one face of the many-faced machine that loomed colossally, in every
city and state, in a thousand guises overshadowing the land.
A familiar phrase rang in his ears: “It is to laugh.” At the height of
the wrangle, he giggled, once, aloud, and earned a sullen frown from
Judge Witberg. Worse, a myriad times, he decided, were these bullying
lawyers and this bullying judge then the bucko mates in first quality
hell-ships, who not only did their own bullying but protected themselves
as well. These petty rapscallions, on the other hand, sought protection
behind the majesty of the law. They struck, but no one was permitted to
strike back, for behind them were the prison cells and the clubs of the
stupid policemen--paid and professional fighters and beaters-up of
men. Yet he was not bitter. The grossness and the sliminess of it was
forgotten in the simple grotesqueness of it, and he had the saving sense
of humor.
Nevertheless, hectored and heckled though he was, he managed in the end
to give a simple, straightforward version of the affair, and, despite
a belligerent cross-examination, his story was not shaken in any
particular. Quite different it was from the perjuries that had shouted
aloud from the perjuries of Patsy and his two witnesses.
Both Patsy's attorney and the Prosecuting Attorney rested their
cases, letting everything go before the Court without argument. Watson
protested against this, but was silenced when the Prosecuting Attorney
told him that Public Prosecutor and knew his business.
“Patrick Horan has testified that he was in danger of his life and that
he was compelled to defend himself,” Judge Witberg's verdict began. “Mr.
Watson has testified to the same thing. Each has sworn that the other
struck the first blow; each has sworn that the other made an unprovoked
assault on him. It is an axiom of the law that the defendant should
be given the benefit of the doubt. A very reasonable doubt exists.
Therefore, in the case of the People Versus Carter Watson the benefit
of the doubt is given to said Carter Watson and he is herewith ordered
discharged from custody. The same reasoning applies to the case of the
People Versus Patrick Horan. He is given the benefit of the doubt and
discharged from custody. My recommendation is that both defendants shake
hands and make up.”
In the afternoon papers the first headline that caught Watson's eye was:
“CARTER WATSON ACQUITTED.” In the second paper it was: “CARTER WATSON
ESCAPES A FINE.” But what capped everything was the one beginning:
“CARTER WATSON A GOOD FELLOW.” In the text he read how Judge Witberg had
advised both fighters to shake hands, which they promptly did. Further,
he read:
“'Let's have a nip on it,' said Patsy Horan.
“'Sure,' said Carter Watson.
“And, arm in arm, they ambled for the nearest saloon.”