"How do you know that, Doc?" and Wilkins told of four calls for him in
four days, to young girls, similarly drunk.
"And my _first_ call was to young Mary--Antor's tiny Grammar School
kid, who was as drunk as Virginia; but, on coming out of it, told of
robbing Antor's pantry, in which liquor was always on hand for his
political pals, you know; that poor kid taking it to various affairs
and giving it to boys; and winning 'popularity' that way."
"So," said Gadsby, "Councilman Antor's boy and girl, brought up in
a family with liquor always handy, now, with ignorant, childish
braggadocio, bring Councilman Antor into this mix-up! I'm sorry for
Antor; but his pantry is in for an official visit."
It wasn't so long from this day that Court got around to this rumpus.
To say that that big room was _full_, would put it mildly. Although,
according to an old saying, "a cat is only as big as its skin," that
room's walls almost burst, as groups of church organizations and law
abiding inhabitants almost fought for admission; until standing room
was nothing but a suffocating jam. As Gadsby and Doc Wilkins sat
watching that sight, Gadsby said:--
"It's an outpouring of rightful wrath by a proud city's population;
who, having put out good, hard work in bringing it to its high
standing as a community, today, will not stand for anything that will
put a blot on its municipal flag, which is, right now, proudly flying
on City Hall."
As Wilkins was about to say so, a rising murmur was rolling in from out
back, for Norman Antor was coming in, in custody of a big patrolman,
and with four youths, all looking, not only anxious, but plainly
showing humiliation at such an abomination against trusting young
girlhood. Scowls and angry rumblings told that high official, way up in
back of that mahogany railing, that but a spark would start a riot. So,
in a calm, almost uncanny way, this first trial of its kind in Branton
Hills got along to a court official calling, loudly:--
"Virginia Adams!!"
If you think that you know what a totally still room is, by no kink
of your imagination could you possibly know such an awful, frightful
_hush_ as struck that crowd dumb, as Virginia, a tall, dark, willowy,
stylish girl quickly took that chair, from which Truth, in all its
purity, is customarily brought out. But Virginia was not a bit shaky
nor anxious, nor doubtful of an ability to go through with this ugly
task.
Gadsby and Doc Wilkins sat watching Nina; Gadsby with profound
sympathy, but Wilkins with an old school-pal's intuition, watching
for a blow-up. But Nina didn't blow up, that is, not visibly; but that
famous rigid will was boiling, full tilt; boiling up to a point for
landing, "tooth and claw" on our pompous Councilman's son, if things
didn't turn out satisfactorily.
Virginia didn't occupy that stand long; it was only a half-sobbing
account of a night at a dancing pavilion; and with a sob or two from a
woman or girl in that vast crowd. All Virginia said was:--
"Norman Antor said I was a cry-baby if I wouldn't drink with him.
But I said, 'All right; I _am_ a cry-baby! And I always _will_ turn
'cry-baby' if anybody insists that I drink that stuff.'" (Just a short
lull, a valiant fight for control, and)--"But I _had_ to drink!! Norman
was tipping my chair back and John Allison was forcing that glass into
my mouth! I got so sick I couldn't stand up, and didn't know a thing
until I found I was on a couch in my own parlor."