CHAPTER VII

IN COURT

Johnny and Drew were up at eight o'clock next morning. At 8:30 the black-haired, dark-eyed girl with smiling lips and dimpled cheeks brought in steaming coffee and some unusual but delicious pastry.

Drew called her Rosy, and patted her on the arm. Rosy's dimples deepened.

Who was Rosy? Why did she live in that other shack among the walls of brick and mortar? Why did Drew room in this odd place? Johnny wanted to ask all these questions. Realizing that their answers did not greatly concern him, he asked none of them.

At ten o'clock he and Drew were seated on the front bench of the "Local 46," the particular court room in which their pickpocket case was to be tried.

The whole scene was packed with interest for Johnny. The judge in his box-like coop, the young prosecutor and the deputies standing below, the motley throng that filled the seats at his back, each waiting his turn to appear as complainant, defendant or witness, made a picture he would not soon forget.

The judge was a dark-skinned man of foreign appearance. His hair was long. His eyes were large, and at times piercing. He sat slumped down in his chair. When sudden problems arose, he had a trick of bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and peering at a prisoner as a hawk might peer at a squirrel or a mouse.

"He's Italian," said Drew. "Smart man. Knows his business. Square, too. A good judge. Lots of fun, too, if he wants to be."

At this moment two names were called. Two large men, respectably dressed, walked up the aisle to take their places at the high, narrow table just before the judge's stand. Two officers stepped up beside them.

"Confidence men," whispered Drew. "We all know them. Haven't got a thing on them, though, I'll bet. Just picked them up on suspicion. They get thousands every year from people who are looking for a chance to make easy money. They--

"See! I told you. The judge is letting them go. It's not what you know that counts in court. It's what you can prove."

Once more the stage was set. An attractive young woman, carefully and tastefully dressed, a young man at her side, a middle-aged man of stocky build carrying a package, a young lady of the shop-girl type at his side; these four stood before the judge.

"Young lady," said the judge, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses as he spoke to the well dressed one, "you are charged with the theft of one dress, taken from the store of Dobbs, Hobson & Dobbs; value $14.00. Guilty, or not guilty?"

"Guilty," the girl murmured with downcast eyes.

"It is my duty," the judge leaned forward in his chair, "to warn you that if you plead guilty I may fine you from one dollar to one hundred dollars, or send you to jail for from one day to one year. Knowing this, do you still wish to plead guilty?" His tone was impressive.

The girl hesitated. A short, gray-haired man stepped up and whispered in her ear.

"Her lawyer," explained Drew.

"Guilty." The girl nodded her head.

The evidence was presented. Then the husband of the young lady spoke: "If your Honor please. This is the first time this sort of thing has happened. I will give my pledge that it will not happen again."

The judge raised himself on his elbows, stared through his glasses and exclaimed: "I'll see that it doesn't happen again for sixty days. The idea! A woman of your intelligence going into a store and carrying off a dress that doesn't belong to you and you don't need! Why did you do it?"

"I--I don't know, Judge. I--I just saw it there. I--I liked it. So, the first thing I knew I was taking it away."

"Exactly. Sixty days! Sit over there."

The judge pointed to a row of chairs at the right of his box; the defendant burst into tears, dabbled her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief; her young husband led her to a seat and, for the time, the affair was ended.

"The judge will allow her to weep for a couple of hours," Drew explained in a whisper. "Meantime, his secretary in the back room will get some people on the wire and look up her record. If her record is good, he'll set his sentence aside, put her on a year's probation. Probably never hear from her again. She's had about enough.

"But why do they do it?" he exclaimed in a whisper. "If you were a young woman would you go through all this and carry the memory of the humiliation and disgrace through a long life for a fourteen dollar dress? You would not; nor for forty dresses!

"But they do it, over and over and over. Hats, belts, coats, dresses, artificial flowers. What don't they steal? And they come to court, sometimes three or four a day, to stand before the judge and weep. You'd think they'd learn, that everyone in the world would learn after awhile, everyone, except the professional shoplifter. But they don't."

And now a score of young black men stood before the bench. They were accused of gambling with dice. The dice, a hook for raking them in, and a few coins were offered in evidence.

"Who was running this game?" the judge thundered at them. Nobody knew; not even the arresting officer.

"Well," said the judge, "you all working?"

"Ya-as, sir."

"Got good jobs?"

"Ya-as, sir."

"Louder." The judge cupped a hand to his ear. "You all got real good jobs?"

"Ya-as, SIR!"

"All right, you can go, but we have a police benefit fund here. If you've all got real good jobs you might contribute a dollar each to that fund."

The black men went into a huddle. They produced the required sum and marched out.

"One of the judge's little jokes," Drew smiled. "I don't see how he could live through all this low down squalor day after day if it wasn't for his jokes."

"I want to tell you, Johnny, I wish I could tell every boy in the land a thousand times, crime is not attractive! It is mean and low down, sordid and dirty. That's the best you can make out of it."

"One more case," he whispered as he rose, "then comes ours. You wait here. I'll go get the men."