JOHN DOE
In the Juvenile Court next day, Skippy was duly arraigned and
sentenced. An International Detective Agency man posing as an irate
merchant pressed a charge of petty larceny against John Doe, orphan, no
home and a native of the city of New York. The evening papers carried a
small first page story on this original John Doe who was about to spend
his first night of a four year sentence in the Delafield Reformatory.
Meanwhile, Skippy was aware that his role of John Doe, thief, had
become almost too realistic to be comfortable. His morning wait in the
courtroom had seemed interminable. The heat was oppressive, the court
procedure tiresome and he felt not a little regret that he had not
urged Mr. Conne to have his aunt come and give him the bit of
encouragement he needed to go on with his part in the reformatory. He
thought of his dead father, of Big Joe Tully who had lost his life
saving the Airedale, Mugs, which he had given to Skippy. And Mugs too
was gone, killed by an auto.
Not that he felt in the least fearful nor doubted his ability to go
through with his strange role. He merely felt a little lonesome and
wished that he might look out over the sea of faces that crowded the
courtroom and see his Aunt Min's among them, smiling her encouragement.
But his aunt was at home busy with her sewing that morning, quite
content with the money that Carlton Conne had turned over to her and
satisfied that the great detective would see that her nephew was safe
and sound.
Skippy had to be content with the presence of Dick Hallam, Carlton
Conne's man, notwithstanding the fact that he was supposed to be
prosecuting him. Hallam, however, was better than no one at all for
when the occasion permitted, he flashed a significant look at the boy.
He spent the afternoon in an ante room and Dick Hallam, blond, tall and
about twenty-eight, played "rummy" with him. Also, he had too much to
eat, including ice cream and candy and cold drinks and at about four
o'clock Carlton Conne came in.
"All set, kid?" he asked with that half-smile that Skippy was beginning
to like.
"_And how!_" the boy grinned, feeling cheerful immediately.
"He's been acting like it's a picnic, boss," Dick Hallam interposed
gaily.
"Fine," said the detective. "You want to keep it up, kid--you've
nothing to fear--not a thing! Everything's been arranged, and I don't
think you'll have to spend more than a night or two at Delafield.
Meanwhile, what time you _do_ spend, you'll have someone watching close
at hand so never feel you're alone. The warden and a few trusted guards
know of our little game, but of course you're to speak to no one about
it unless you're spoken to first. Now--you remember all the signals?"
"Yes sir--everythin'!"
Dick Hallam grinned. "He's just nervous about riding up with that rough
neck gang that's been sentenced today, boss. Especially one tough kid
named Nickie Fallon who got seven years for trying his hand at a
hold-up and carrying a gun. Some character, that kid."
"I know," Conne said understandingly, "that's the only disagreeable
part of this job, kid. But I warned you what the company would be like."
"Aw gee, Mr. Conne, I ain't afraida that. I was just wonderin' if
they'd be the kind of guys what start a fight on the way an' if they
did what would I do, huh?"
"How would you act if you were riding up with that bunch to start a
real sentence, eh? Well kid, get yourself in the state of mind that it
is real and act accordingly."
Skippy did just that. About six o'clock a court attendant led him out
to a closed car. Four boys ranging from about his own age to seventeen
years sat inside and eyed him sullenly as he crowded his slim body
among them to make the fifth passenger on the back seat. Two detectives
followed and took the chairs before them; another detective sat ahead
on the seat beside the driver.
"Well, if it ain't John Doe--the kid hisself!" a hoarse voice whispered
beside him.
Skippy looked up and saw a drooping mouth and black eyes almost too
bright--Nickie Fallon. Despite an inward shudder, he nodded and smiled.
"That's me," he said simply. "Got enough room?"
"Nah, but that's all jake. Might's well get used to crowdin'." Then,
after a pause: "Say, you John Doe, on the level?"
Skippy gave a sidelong glance at the detectives to see if they noted
this whispered conversation between Nickie Fallon and himself.
Apparently they didn't, and he gave the boy another smile.
"Anyways, they slipped you four years, eh? Three years less'n me."
There was another pause after which Fallon whispered, "They ain't
keepin' me two days if I can take it on the lam. How about you, kid?"
Skippy nodded again, feeling rather foolish as he did so. However, he
could think of no other course to pursue, and instinct prompted him to
hold his tongue until he was sure of himself.
"Ain't the gabby kind, eh?" said the other. "Well, that's the kinda pal
I like. Say, if they don't put us near each other up there, I'll raise
the dust--see? I wanta pal like you."
Skippy stirred uneasily. Was Nickie Fallon going to be an unlooked-for
factor in this strange play?