The goddess of justice is popularly supposed to bandage her eyes in order to maintain an impartial attitude, but it is quite possible that she does it to keep from seeing the dreary court-rooms which are supposed to be her abiding place.
On the hot Friday morning following the fight, the big anteroom to the juvenile court, which was formerly used for the police court, was just as dirty and the air just as stale as in mid-winter, when the windows were down and the furnace going.
Scrub women came at dawn, to be sure, and smeared its floors with sour mops, and occasionally a janitor brushed the cobwebs off the ceiling, but the grime was more than surface deep, and every nook and cranny held the foul odor of the unwashed, unkempt current of humanity that for so many years had flowed through it. Ghosts of dead and gone criminals seemed to hover over the place, drawn back through curiosity, to relive their own sorry experiences in the cases of the young offenders waiting before the bar of justice.
On the bench at the rear of the room the delegation from Calvary Alley had been waiting for over an hour. Mrs. Snawdor, despite her forebodings, had achieved a costume worthy of the occasion, but Uncle Jed and Dan had made no pretense at a toilet. As for Nance, she had washed her face as far east and west as her ears and as far south as her chin; but the regions beyond were unreclaimed. The shoe-string on her hair had been replaced by a magenta ribbon, but the thick braids had not been disturbed. Now that she had got over her fright, she was rather enjoying the novelty and excitement of the affair. She had broken the law and enjoyed breaking it, and the cop had pinched her. It was a game between her and the cop, and the cop had won. She saw no reason whatever for Uncle Jed and Dan to look so solemn.
By and by a woman in spectacles took her into a small room across the hall, and told her to sit on the other side of the table and not to shuffle her feet. Nance explained about the mosquito bites, but the lady did not listen.
"What day is this?" asked the spectacled one, preparing to chronicle the answers in a big book.
"Friday," said Nance, surprised that she could furnish information to so wise a person.
"What day of the month?"
"Day before rent day."
The corner of the lady's mouth twitched, and Nance glanced at her suspiciously.
"Can you repeat these numbers after me? Four, seven, nine, three, ten, six, fourteen."
Nance was convinced now that the lady was crazy, but she rattled them off glibly.
"Very good! Now if the little hand of your clock was at twelve, and the big hand at three, what time would it be?"
Nance pondered the matter deeply.
"Five after twelve!" she answered triumphantly.
"No; try again."
Nance was eager to oblige, but she had the courage of her convictions and held her point.
"Wouldn't it be a quarter past?" suggested the examiner.
"No, ma'am, it wouldn't. Our clock runs ten minutes slow."
The grave face behind the spectacles broke into a smile; then business was resumed.
"Shut your eyes and name as many objects as you can without stopping, like this: trees, flowers, birds. Go ahead."
"We can't get beyond ashes, eh?" said the lady. "Now suppose you tell me what the following words mean. Charity?"
"Is it a organization?" asked Nance doubtfully.
"Justice?"
"I dunno that one."
"Do you know what God is?"
Nance felt that she was doing badly. If her freedom depended on her passing this test, she knew the prison bars must be already closing on her. She no more knew what God is than you or I know, but the spectacled lady must be answered at any cost.
"God," she said laboriously, "God is what made us, and a cuss word."
Many more questions followed before she was sent back to her place between Uncle Jed and Mrs. Snawdor, and Dan was led away in turn to receive his test.
Meanwhile Uncle Jed was getting restless. Again and again he consulted his large nickel-plated watch.
"I ought to be getting to bed," he complained. "I won't get more 'n four hours' sleep as it is."
"Here comes the Clarke boy!" exclaimed Nance, and all eyes were turned in the direction of the door.
The group that presented itself at the entrance was in sharp contrast to its surroundings. Mac Clarke, arrayed in immaculate white, was flanked on one side by his distinguished-looking father and on the other by his father's distinguished-looking lawyer. The only evidence that the aristocratic youth had ever come into contact with the riffraff of Calvary Alley was the small patch of court-plaster above his right eye.
"Tell the judge we are here," said Mr. Clarke briskly to his lawyer. "Ask him to get through with us as soon as possible. I have an appointment at twelve-thirty."
The lawyer made his way up the aisle and disappeared through the door which all the morning had been swallowing one small offender after another.
Almost immediately a loud voice called from the platform:
"Case of Mac Clarke! Nance Molloy! Dan Lewis!" And Nance with a sudden leap of her heart, knew that her time had come.
In the inner room, where the juvenile cases had a private hearing, the judge sat at a big desk, scanning several pages of type-written paper. He was a young judge with a keen, though somewhat weary, face and eyes, full of compassionate knowledge. But Nance did not see the judge; her gaze was riveted upon her two arch enemies: Mason, with his flat nose and pugnacious jaw, and "Old Cock-eye," the policeman who looked strangely unfamiliar with his helmet off.
"Well, Mr. Mason," said the judge when the three small offenders had been ranged in front of the desk, with the witnesses grouped behind them, "I'll ask you to tell me just what took place last Saturday afternoon at the cathedral."
Mason cleared his throat and, with evident satisfaction, proceeded to set forth his version of the story:
"I was sweeping out the vestibule, your Honor, when I heard a lot of yelling and knew that a fight was on. It's that away every Saturday afternoon that I ain't on the spot to stop it. I run down through the cathedral and out to the back gate. The alley was swarming with a mob of fighting, yelling children. Then I see these two boys a-fighting each other up at the end of the alley, and before I can get to 'em, this here little girl flings herself between 'em, and the big boy picks up a rock and heaves it straight th'u the cathedral window."
"Well, Mac," said the judge, turning to the trim, white-clad figure confronting him—a figure strangely different from the type that usually stood there. "You have heard what the janitor charges you with. Are you guilty?"
"Yes, sir," said Mac.
"The breaking of the window was an accident?"
Mac glanced quickly at his father's lawyer, then back at the judge.
"Yes, sir."
"But you were fighting in the alley?"
"I was keeping the alley boys out of the cathedral yard."
"That's a lie!" came in shrill, indignant tones from the little girl at his elbow.
"There seems to be some difference of opinion here," said the judge, putting his hand over his mouth to repress a smile at the vehemence of the accusation. "Suppose we let this young lady give her version of it."
Nance jerking her arm free from Mrs. Snawdor's restraining hand, plunged breathlessly into her story.
"He was settin' on the fence, along with a parcel of other guys, a-makin' faces an' callin' names long afore we even took no notice of 'em."
"Both sides is to blame, your Honor," interposed Mason, "there ain't a day when the choir rehearses that I don't have to go out and stop 'em fighting."
"Well, in this case who started the trouble?" asked the judge.
Mrs. Snawdor clutched at Nance, but it was too late.
"I did," she announced.
The judge looked puzzled.
"Why, I thought you said the choir boys began it by sitting on the fence and making faces and calling names."
"Shucks," said Nance, contemptuously, "we kin beat 'em makin' faces an' callin' names."
"Well, how did you start the fight?"
"That there big boy dared me to step in the concrete. Didn't you now?"
Mac stood looking straight ahead of him and refused to acknowledge her presence.
"It strikes me," said the judge, "that you choir boys could be better employed than in teasing and provoking the children in the alley. What do you think, Mac?"
Mac had been provided with no answer to this question, so he offered none.
"Unfortunately," the judge continued, "it is the fathers of boys like you who have to take the punishment. Your father will have to pay for the window. But I want to appeal to your common sense and your sense of justice. Look at me, Mac. You have had advantages and opportunities beyond most boys. You are older than these children. Don't you think, instead of using your influence to stir up trouble and put us to this annoyance and expense, it would be much better for you to keep on your side of the fence and leave these people back of the cathedral alone?"
"Yes, sir," said Mac, perfunctorily.
"And you promise me to do this?"
"Yes, sir."
"We will give you a chance to make your promise good. But remember your name is on our record; if there is any more trouble whatever, you will hear from us. Mr. Clarke, I look to you to see that your son behaves himself. You may step aside please. And now, boy, what is your name?"
"Dan Lewis."
"Oh, yes. I think we have met before. What have you to say for yourself?"
The shoeless, capless, unwashed boy, with his ragged trousers hitched to his shoulders by one suspender, frowned up at the judge through a fringe of tumbled hair.
"Nothin'," he said doggedly.
"Where do you live?"
"I live at home when me maw's there."
"Where is she now?"
This question caused considerable nudging and side-glancing on the part of Mrs. Snawdor.
"She's went to the country," said Dan.
"Is your father living?"
"I dunno."
"Did you go to school last year?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Didn't have no shoes."
"Does your mother work?"
This question brought more nudges and glances from Mrs. Snawdor, none of which were lost on the boy.
"Me mother don't have to work," he said defiantly. "She's a lady."
The judge cleared his throat and called Mrs. Snawdor sharply to order.
"Well, Dan," he said, "I am sorry to see you back here again. What were you up for before?"
"Chuckin' dice."
"And didn't I tell you that it would go hard with you if you came back?"
"Yes, sir, but I never chucked no more dice."
"And I suppose in spite of the way your mouth is bruised, you'll tell me you weren't mixed up in this fight?"
The boy stood staring miserably at the wall with eyes in which fear and hurt pride struggled for mastery.
"Yer Honor!" the policeman broke in. "It's three times lately I've found him sleepin' in doorways after midnight. Him and the gang is a bad lot, yer Honor, a scrappin' an' hoppin' freights an' swipin' junk, an' one thing an' another."
"I never swiped no junk," Dan said hopelessly, "I never swiped nothink in my life."
"Is there no definite charge against this boy?"
"Well, sir," said Mason, "he is always a-climbin' up the steeple of the cathedral."
Dan, sullen, frightened, and utterly unable to defend himself, looked from the officer to the janitor with the wide, distrustful eyes of a cornered coyote.
Suddenly a voice spoke out in his behalf, a shrill, protesting, passionate voice.
"He ain't no worser nor nobody else! Ast Mammy, ast Uncle Jed! He's got to sleep somewheres when his maw fergits to come home! Ever'body goes an' picks on Danny 'cause he ain't got nobody to take up fer him. 'T ain't fair!" Nance ended her tirade in a burst of tears.
"There, there," said the judge, "it's going to be fair this time. You stop crying now and tell me your name?"
"Nance Molloy," she gulped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
"How old are you?"
"'Leven, goin' on twelve."
"Well, take that gum out of your mouth and stop crying."
He consulted his papers and then looked at her over his glasses.
"Nancy," he said, "are you in the habit of slipping into the cathedral when the janitor is not around?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
"Lookin' at the pretties, an' seein' if there's any nickels under the seats."
"You want to buy candy, I suppose?"
"No, sir, a bureau."
Even the tired-looking probation officer looked up and smiled.
"What does a little girl like you want with a bureau?" asked the judge.
"So's I won't have to keep me duds under the bed."
"That's a commendable ambition. But what about these other charges; truancy from school, fighting with the boys, throwing mud, and so on?"
"I never th'ow mud, 'ceptin' when I'm th'owin' back," explained Nance.
"A nice distinction," said the judge. "Is this child's mother present?"
Mrs. Snawdor, like a current that has been restrained too long, surged eagerly forward, and overflowed her conversational banks completely.
"Well, I ain't exactly her mother, but I'm just the same as her mother. You ast anybody in Calvary Alley. Ast Mr. Burks here, ast Mrs. Smelts what I been to her ever since she was a helpless infant baby. When Bud Molloy lay dyin' he says to the brakeman, 'You tell my wife to be good to Nance,'"
"So she's your stepchild?"
"Yes, sir, an' Bud Molloy was as clever a man as ever trod shoe-leather. So was Mr. Yager. Nobody can't say I ever had no trouble with my two first. They wasn't what you might call as smart a man as Snawdor, but they wasn't no fool."
It was a peculiarity of Mrs. Snawdor's that she always spoke of her previous husbands as one, notwithstanding the fact that the virtues which she attributed to them could easily have been distributed among half a dozen.
"Well, well," said the judge impatiently, "what have you to say about the character of this little girl?"
Mrs. Snawdor shifted her last husband's hat from the right side of her head to the left, and began confidentially:
"Well I'll tell you, Jedge, Nance ain't so bad as whut they make her out. She's got her faults. I ain't claimin' she ain't. But she ain't got a drop of meanness in her, an' that's more than I can say for some grown folks present." Mrs. Snawdor favored Mr. Mason with such a sudden and blighting glance that the janitor quailed visibly.
"Do you have trouble controlling her?" asked the judge.
"Nothin' to speak of. She's a awful good worker, Nance is, when you git her down to it. But her trouble is runnin'. Let anything happen in the alley, an' she's up an' out in the thick of it. I'm jes' as apt to come home an' find her playin' ball with the baby in her arms, as not. But I don't have to dress her down near as often as I used to."
"Then you wouldn't say she was a bad child?"
Mrs. Snawdor's emphatic negative was arrested in the utterance by Mr. Mason's accusing eye.
"Well, I never seen no child that was a angel," she compromised.
"Does Nancy go to school?" the judge asked.
"Well, I was threatenin' her the other day, if she didn't behave herself, I was goin' to start her in again."
"I ain't been sence Christmas," volunteered Nance, still sniffling.
"You shet yer mouth," requested Mrs. Snawdor with great dignity.
"Why hasn't she been to school since Christmas?" the judge proceeded sternly.
"Well, to tell you the truth, it was on account of Mr. Snawdor. He got mad 'bout the vaccination. He don't believe in it. Says it gives you the rheumatism. He's got a iron ring on ever' one of the childern. Show yours to the jedge, Nance! He says ef they has to vaccinate 'em to educate 'em, they ain't goin' to de neither one."
"But don't you know that we have compulsory education in this State? Hasn't the truant officer been to see you?"
Mrs. Snawdor looked self-conscious and cast down her eyes.
"Well, not as many times as Snawdor says he has. Snawdor's that jealous he don't want me to have no gentlemen visitors. When I see the truant officer or the clock-man comin', I just keep out of sight to avoid trouble."
The judge's eyes twinkled, then grew stern. "In the meanwhile," he said, "Nancy is growing up in ignorance. What sort of a woman are you to let a child go as ragged and dirty as this one and to refuse her an education?"
"Well, schools ain't what they wuz when me an' you wuz young," Mrs. Snawdor said argumentatively. "They no more'n git a child there than they want to cut out their palets or put spectacles on her. But honest, Judge, the truth of it is I can't spare Nance to go to school. I got a job scrubbin' four nights in the week at the post-office, an' I got to have some help in the daytime. I leave it to you if I ain't."
"That's neither here nor there," said the judge. "It is your business to have her at school every morning and to see that she submits to the regulations. You are an able-bodied woman and have an able-bodied husband. Why don't you move into a decent house in a decent neighborhood?"
"There ain't nothin' the matter with our neighborhood. If you'd jes' git 'em to fix the house up some. The roof leaks something scandalous."
"Who is your landlord?"
"Well, they tell me he is," said Mrs. Snawdor, pointing a malicious finger at Mr. Clarke. This coup d'etat caused considerable diversion, and the judge had to call the court sharply to order.
"Is that your husband in the rear of the room?" he asked Mrs. Snawdor.
"Law, no; that's Mr. Burks, our boarder. I begged Snawdor to come, but he's bashful."
"Well, Mr. Burks, will you step forward and tell us what you know of this little girl?"
Uncle Jed cleared his throat, made a pass at the place where his front hair used to be, and came forward.
"Have you known this child long?" asked the judge.
"Eleven years, going on twelve," said Uncle Jed, with a twinkle in his small eyes, "me an' her grandpa fought side by side in the battle of Chickasaw Bluffs."
"So she comes of fighting stock," said the judge. "Do you consider her incorrigible?"
"Sir?"
"Do you think her stepmother is able to control her?"
Uncle Jed looked a trifle embarrassed.
"Well, Mrs. Snawdor ain't whut you might say regular in her method. Sometimes she's kinder rough on Nance, and then again she's a heap sight too easy."
"That's a God's truth!" Mrs. Snawdor agreed fervently from the rear.
"Then you do not consider it altogether the child's fault?"
"No, sir, I can't say as I do. She jes' gits the signals mixed sometimes, that's all."
The judge smiled.
"So you think if she understood the signals, she'd follow them?"
Uncle Jed's face became very earnest as he laid his hand on Nance's head.
"I believe if this here little lass was to once git it into her head that a thing was right, she'd do it if it landed her where it landed her paw, at the foot of a forty-foot embankment with a engine a-top of her."
"That's a pretty good testimony to her character," said the judge. "It's our business, then, to see that she gets more definite instructions as to the traffic laws of life. Nance, you and Dan step up here again."
The children stood before him, breathing hard, looking him straight in the face.
"You have both been breaking the law. It's a serious thing to be up in court. It is usually the first step on the down grade. But I don't believe either of you have been wholly to blame. I am going to give you one more chance and put you both on probation to Mrs. Purdy, to whom you are to report once a week. Is Mrs. Purdy in the room?"
An elderly little lady slipped forward and stood behind them with a hand on the shoulder of each. Nance did not dare look around, but there was something comforting and reassuring in that fat hand that lay on her shoulder.
"One more complaint against either of you," cautioned the judge impressively, "and it will be the house of reform. If your families can't make you behave, the State can. But we don't want to leave it to the family or the State; we want to leave it to you. I believe you can both make good, but you'll have to fight for it."
Nance's irregular features broke into a smile. It was a quick, wide smile and very intimate.
"Fight?" she repeated, with a quizzical look at the judge. "I thought that was what we was pinched fer."
