In the Course of Justice
"The Law is a sort of hocuspocus science that smilesin yer face while it picks yer pocket; and theglorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to theprofessors than the justice of it."
I
A trim, neatly dressed young man, holding in one of his carefully glovedhands a bamboo cane, sat upon a bench in Union Square one brilliantOctober morning some ten years ago. All about him swarms of excitedsparrows chattered and fought among the yellow leaves. A last night'scarnation languished in his button-hole, and his smoothly shavenlantern-jaw and high cheekbones suggested the type of upper Broadway andthe Tenderloin. In spite of this, the general effect was not unpleasing,especially as his sparse curly hair, just turning gray at the temples,disclosed a forehead suggestive of more than usual intelligence in aface otherwise ordinary. A shadowy, inscrutable smile from time to timeplayed upon his features, at one moment making them seem good-naturedlysympathetic, at another, sinister. The casual observer would haveclassed him as a student or actor. He was both, and more.
From a large jewelry store across the way presently emerged a diminutivemessenger-boy carrying a small, square bundle, and turned into Broadway.The man on the bench, known to his friends as "Supple Jim," roseunobtrusively to his feet. The apostle of Hermes stopped to buy a cent'sworth of mucilaginous candy from the Italian on the corner, and then,whistling loudly, dawdled upon his way. The man followed, manoeuvring forposition, while the boy, now in the chewing stage and strugglingviolently, lingered to inspect a mechanical toy. The supple oneaccomplished a flank movement, approached, touched him on the shoulder,and displayed a silver badge beneath his coat.
"Young man, I'm from the Central Office, and need your help. About ablock from here a feller will come runnin' after you and say they'vegiven you the wrong bundle--see? He'll hand you another, and tell you togive him the one you've got. He's a crook--'Paddy the Sneak'--old game!see?"
The boy was all attention, his jaws motionless.
"Yep!" he replied, his eyes glistening delightedly.
"Well, I'll be right behind you; and when he throws the game into you,just pretend you fall to it an' hand him your box. Then I'll make thecollar. Are you on?"
"Say, that's easy!" grinned the boy.
"Show us what you're good for, then, and I'll have the Inspector sendyou some passes for the theayter."
The boy started on in business-like fashion. As his interlocutor hadpredicted, a hatless "feller" overtook him, breathless, and entered intovoluble explanation. The messenger exchanged bundles, and then, eyesfront, continued up the street until the detective should pounce uponhis victim. For some strange reason no such event took place. At the endof the block he cast a furtive glance behind him. Both Paddy and theCentral Office man had vanished, to dispose in a Bowery pawnshop of thefruits of their short hour of toil, dividing between them one hundredand sixty dollars as the equivalent of the diamond stud which the boxhad contained.
Half an hour later, drawn by a fascination which he found irresistible,the hero of this legal memoir took a car to the Criminal CourtsBuilding, and made his way to the General Sessions.
"Forgot my subpoena, Cap'n. I'm a witness. Just let me in, please!" hesaid, with a smile of easy good-nature.
Old Flaherty, the superannuated door-keeper, known as The Eagle, eyedthe young man suspiciously for a moment, and then, grumbling, allowedhim to enter the court-room. The thief who had so easily securedadmittance, fought his way persistently through the throng, elbowed bythe gruff officer at the inner gate, and selecting the best seat on thefront bench, compelled its earlier occupants to make room for him with acalm assurance and matter-of-course superiority which they had not thecourage to oppose.
Supple Jim listened with interest to the call of the calendar. A fewlawyers, with their witnesses, whose cases had gone over until themorrow, struggled out through the crush at the door, with no perceptiblediminution in the throng within. The clerk prepared to call the roll ofthe jury.
"Trial jurors in the case of 'The People against Richard Monohan,'please answer to your names."
The twelve, in varying keys, had all replied; the trial was "on" again,having been interrupted, evidently, by the adjournment of the afternoonbefore. A venerable complainant now resumed the story of how two youngmen, whose acquaintance he had made in a saloon the previous Sundayevening, had followed him into the street, assaulted him on his way homeand robbed him of his ring. He positively identified the prisoner asthe one who had wrenched it from his finger.
Next, an officer testified to having arrested the defendant upon the oldgentleman's description, and to having found in his pocket a pawn-ticketcalling for the ring in question.
The case, in the vernacular of the courts, was "dead open and shut."
The People "rested," and the defendant, a miserable specimen of thosewretched beings that constitute the penumbra of crime, took the stand.His defence was absurd. He denied ever before having seen his accuser,had not been in the saloon, had not taken the ring, had not pawned it,had bought the ticket from a man on the corner who, he remembered, hadtold him he was getting a bargain at three dollars. He could notdescribe this "man," or account for his own whereabouts on the eveningin question. He had been drunk at the time. It was a story as old astheft itself.
The prosecutor winked at the jury, and the Judge once more summoned theapostolic-looking complainant to the chair.
"You realize, sir, the terrible consequences to this young man shouldyou be mistaken? Are you quite sure that he is one of the persons whorobbed you?" he inquired with becoming gravity.
The witness raised himself by his cane, and stepping down to where theprisoner sat, gazed searchingly into his stolid face.
"God knows," said he, "I wouldn't harm a hair of his head. But by allthat's holy, I swear he's the man who took my ring."
A wave of interest passed over the assembled attorneys. That wasbusiness for you! No use to cross-examine an old fellow like _him_.There was a great nodding of heads and shuffling of feet.
"Do you think you could identify your other assailant if you should seehim?" continued the judge.
"I'm sure of it," calmly replied the witness.
"Very well, sir," continued his Honor; "see if you can do so."
Half of the audience moved uneasily, and glanced longingly toward theclosed means of exit. A woman tittered hysterically. The witness slowlydescended, and, escorted by a policeman, began his inspection,scrutinizing each face with care. Quietly he moved along the firstbench, and then, gently shaking his head, along the second. The interestbecame breathless. A sigh of relief rippled along the settees after him.The only spectator unmoved by what was taking place was Supple Jim, whosmiled genially at the old gentleman as the latter glanced at him andpassed on. Four rows--five rows--six rows--seven rows. At last therewas but one bench left, and the excitement reached the point ofebullition. Would he find him? Were they going to be disappointed afterall? Only half a bench left! Only two men left! Ah! what was that?People shoved one another in the back, craning their heads to see whatwas doing in the distant corner where the complainant stood. Suddenlythe searcher faced the Judge, and, pointing to the last occupant of therear settee, announced with conviction:
"Your Honor, _this_ is the other man!"
A murmur travelled rapidly around the court-room. Honors were evenbetween a Judge who could thus unerringly divine the presence of amalefactor and a patriarch who, out of so great a multitude, was ableunhesitatingly to pick out a midnight assailant.
The "criminal" attorneys whispered among themselves: "Well, say! what doyou think of that! All right, eh? Well, I guess! Well, say!"
This picturesque digression concluded, interest again centred in thedefendant, of whose ultimate conviction there could no longer be anydoubt.
Not that the identification of the accomplice had any real significance,since the man so ostentatiously picked out by the patriarch in court hadbeen caught red-handed at the time of the robbery within a block
of thesaloon, was already under indictment as a co-defendant, and being outon bail had merely been brought in under a bench warrant and placedamong the spectators. But the performance had a distinct dramatic value,and the jury could not be blamed for making the natural deduction thatif the complainant was right as regards the one, _ipso facto_ he must beas to the other. That the complainant had already identified him at thepolice-station and at the Tombs seemed a matter of small importance. Thepoint was, apparently, that the old fellow had a good memory, and oneupon which the jury could safely rely.
The Judge charged the law, and the jury retired, returning almostimmediately with a verdict of "Guilty of robbery in the first degree."
The prisoner at the bar swayed for an instant, steadied himself, andstood clinging to the rail, while his counsel made the usual motions fora new trial and in arrest of judgment.
"Clear the box! Clear the box!" shouted the clerk, and the jury, theirduty comfortably discharged, filed slowly out.
The court-room rapidly emptied itself into the corridors. Supple Jimwaited on the steps of the building until a young woman, carrying ababy, came wearily out, and, as she passed, thrust a roll of bills intoher hand.
"Your feller's been _done dirt_!" he growled. "Take that, and put itout of sight. Don't give it to any _lawyer_, now! You'll need ityourself." Then he sprang lightly upon the rear platform of a surfacecar as it whizzed by, and vanished from her astonished gaze.
Thus was an innocent man convicted, while crime triumphant played thepart of benefactor.
II
The next morning Supple Jim, sitting in the warm sunshine in thebay-window of his favorite restaurant, lazily finished a heartybreakfast of ham and eggs, glancing casually, meanwhile, at the morningpaper which lay open before him. At a respectful distance his attendantawaited the moment when this important guest should snap his fingers,demand his damage, and call for a Carolina Perfecto. These would beforthcoming with alacrity, for Mr. James Hawkins was more of an autocraton Fourteenth Street than a Pittsburg oil magnate at the Waldorf. Justnow the Supple James was reading with keen enjoyment how, the daybefore, a quick-witted old gentleman had brought a malefactor tojustice. At one of the paragraphs he broke into a gentle laugh, perusingit again and again, apparently with intense enjoyment.
Had ever such a farce been enacted in the course of justice! He tossedaway the paper and swore softly. Of course, the only thing that hadrendered such a situation possible at all was the fact that the agedFarlan was a superlative old ass. To hear him tell his yarn on thestand, you would have thought that it gave him positive pain to testifyagainst a fellow being. Did you ever see such white hair and such a bigwhite beard? Why, he looked like Dowie or Moses, or some of thosefellows. When Jim had tripped him up and slipped off the ring, the oldchap had already swallowed half a dozen "County Antrims," and wasn't ina condition to remember anything or anybody. The idea of his going sopiously into court and swearing the thing on to Monohan; it gave you thecreeps! A fellow might go to "the chair" as easy as not, in just thesame way. Of course, Jim had not intended to get the young greenhorninto any trouble when he had sold him the pawn-ticket. He had been justan easy mark. And when the police had arrested him and found the ticketin his pocket, there was not any call for Jim to set them straight. Thatwas just Monohan's luck, curse him! Let him look out for himself.
But to see the patriarch carefully forging the shackles upon the wrongman, had filled Jim with a wondering and ecstatic bewilderment. Thestars in their courses had seemed warring in his behalf.
Think of it! That fellow Monohan could get twenty years! It made himmad, this infernal conspiracy, as it seemed to him, between judges andprosecutors. It mattered little, apparently, whether they got the rightman or not, so long as they got someone! What business had they to goand convict a fellow who was innocent, and put him, "Jim," the cleverest"gun" in the profession, in such a position? He wondered if folks inother lines of business had so many problems to face. The stupidity ofwitnesses and the trickery of lawyers was almost beyond belief. It was aperennial contest, not only of wit against wit, strategy againststrategy, but, worst of all, of wit against impenetrable dulness. Why,if people were going to be so careless about swearing a man's libertyaway, it was time to "get on the level." You might be nailed any time bymistake, and then your record would make any defence impossible. You hadthe right to demand common honesty, or, at least, _intelligence_, on thepart of the prosecution.
But the main question was, What was going to become of Monohan? Well,the boy was convicted, and that was the end of it. It was quite clear toJim that, had he been victimized in the same way, no one would havebothered about it at all. It was simply the fortune of war.
But twenty years! His own pitiful aggregate of six, with vacations inbetween, as it were, looked infinitesimal beside that awful burialalive. He'd be fifty when he came out--if he ever came out! Sometimesthey died like flies in a hot summer. And then there was alwaysDannemora--worst of all, Dannemora! It would kill _him_ to go back. Hecouldn't live away from the main stem _now_. Why, he hadn't been in_stir_ for five years. All his prison traits, the gait, the hunch, wereeffaced--gone completely. His brows contracted in a sharp frown.
"What's the use?" he muttered as he rose to go. "He ain't worth it! Ican stake his wife and kids till his time's up! But, God! _I_ couldnever go back!"
Yet the same irresistible force which had directed him to the court-roomthe day before, now led him to the Grand Central Station. Like onewalking in a dream, he bought a ticket and took the noon train alone toOssining.
Following a path that led him quickly to a hill above the town not farfrom the prison walls, he threw himself at full length beside a bowlder,and gazed upon the familiar outlook. Across the broad, shining river laythe dreamy blue hills he had so often watched while working at hisbrushes. Here and there a small boat skimmed down the stream before thesame fresh breeze that sent the red and brown leaves fluttering alongthe grass. The sunlight touched everything with enchantment, the coolautumn air was an intoxicant--it was the Golden Age again. No, not theGolden Age! Just below, two hundred yards away, he noticed for the firsttime a group of men in stripes breaking stones. Some were kneeling, somecrouching upon their haunches. They worked in silence, cracking onestone after another and making little piles of the fragments. At thedistance of only a few feet two guards leaned upon their loaded rifles.Jim shut his eyes.
III
The day of sentence came. Once more Jim found himself in the stiflingcourt. He saw Monohan brought to the bar, and watched as he waitedlistlessly for those few terrible words. The Court listened with grimpatience to the lawyer's perfunctory appeal for mercy, and then, as thelatter concluded, addressed the prisoner with asperity.
"Richard Monohan, you have been justly convicted by a jury of your peersof robbery in the first degree. The circumstances are such as to entitleyou to no sympathy from the Court. The evidence is so clear andpositive, and the complainant's identification of you so perfect, thatit would have been impossible for a jury to reach any other verdict.Under the law you might be punished by a term of twenty years, but Ishall be merciful to you. The sentence of the Court is--" here the Judgeadjusted his spectacles, and scribbled something in a book--"that you beconfined in State Prison for a period of _not less than ten nor morethan fifteen years_."
Monohan staggered and turned white.
The whole crowded court-room gasped aloud.
"Come on there!" growled the attendant to his prisoner. But suddenlythere was a quick movement in the centre of the room, and a man sprangto his feet.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! There's been a mistake! You've convicted thewrong man! _I_ stole that ring!"
"Keep your seats! Keep your seats!" bellowed the court officers as thespectators rose impulsively to their feet.
Those who had been present at the trial two days before were allpositive _now_ that they had never taken any stock in the oldgentleman's identification.
"Silence! Silence in the court
!" shouted the Captain pounding vigorouslywith a paper-weight.
"What's all this?" sternly demanded the Judge. "Do you claim that _you_robbed the complainant in this case? Impossible!"
"Not a bit, yer 'Onor!" replied Jim in clarion tones. "You've nailed thewrong man, that's all. I took the ring, pawned it for five dollars, andsold the ticket to Monohan on the corner. I can't stand for his gettin'any fifteen years," he concluded, glancing expectantly at thespectators.
A ripple of applause followed this declaration.
"Hm!" commented his Honor. "How about the co-defendant in the case,identified here in the court-room? Do you exonerate _him_ as well?"
"I've nothin' to do with _him_," answered Jim calmly. "I've got enoughtroubles of my own without shouldering any more. Only Monohan didn'thave any hand in the job. You've got the boot on the wrong foot!"
Young Mr. Dockbridge, the Deputy Assistant District Attorney, nowasserted himself.
"This is all very well," said he with interest, "but we must have it inthe proper form. If your Honor will warn this person of his rights, andadminister the oath, the stenographer may take his confession and makeit a part of the record."
Jim was accordingly sworn, and informed that whatever he was about tosay must be "without fear or hope of reward," and might be used asevidence against him thereafter.
In the ingenious and exhaustive interrogation which followed, the Judge,a noted cross-examiner, only succeeded in establishing beyondperadventure that Jim was telling nothing but the truth, and thatMonohan was, in fact, entirely innocent. He therefore consented,somewhat ungraciously, to having the latter's conviction set aside andto his immediate discharge.
"As for _this_ man," said he, "commit him to the Tombs pending hisindictment by the Grand Jury, and see to it, Mr. District Attorney," headded with significance, "that he be brought before _me_ for sentence."
Out into the balconies of the court-house swarmed the mob. Monohan haddisappeared with his wife and child, not even pausing to thank hisbenefactor. It was enough for him that he had escaped from the meshes ofthe terrible net in which he had been entangled.
From mouth to mouth sprang the wonderful story. It was shouted from onecorridor to another, and from elevator to elevator. Like a wireless itflew to the District Attorney's office, the reporters' room, theCoroner's Court, over the bridge to the Tombs, across Centre Street intoTom Foley's, to Pontin's, to the Elm Castle, up Broadway, across to theBowery, over to the Rialto, along the Tenderloin; it flashed to thievesin the act of picking pockets, and they paused; to "second-story men"plotting in saloons, and held them speechless; the "moll-buzzers" heardit; the "con" men caught it; the "britch men" passed it on. In an hourthe whole under-world knew that Supple Jim had squealed on himself, hadtaken his dose to save a pal, had anteed his last chip, had "chucked thegame."
IV
Three long months had passed, during which Jim had lain in the Tombs.For a day or two the newspapers had given him considerable notoriety. Afew sentimental women had sent him flowers of greater or less fragrance,with more or less grammatical expressions of admiration; then the dulldrag of prison-time had begun, broken only by the daily visit of Paddy,and the more infrequent consultations with old Crookshanks.
The Grand Jury had promptly found an indictment, but when the DistrictAttorney placed the case upon the calendar in order to allow our hero toplead guilty, Mr. Crookshanks, Jim's counsel, announced that his clienthad no intention of so doing, and demanded an immediate trial.
Dockbridge, however, now found himself in a situation of singularembarrassment, which made action upon his part for the presentimpossible. He was at his wits' end, for the law expressly required thatno prisoner should be confined longer than two months without trial. Andeach week he was obliged to face the redoubtable Mr. Crookshanks, whowith much bluster demanded that the case should be disposed of.
Thirteen weeks went by and still Jim lived on prison fare. Soon areporter--an acquaintance of Paddy's--commented upon the fact to hiscity editor. The policy of the paper happening to be against theadministration, an item appeared among the "Criminal Notes" callingattention to the period of time during which Jim had been incarcerated.Other papers copied, and scathing editorials followed. In twenty-fourhours Jim's detention beyond the time regulated by statute for the trialof a prisoner without bail had become an issue. The great Americanpublic, through its representative, the press, clamored to know why thewheels of justice had clogged, and the campaign committee of the reformparty called in a body upon the District Attorney, warning him that anelection was approaching and inquiring the cause of the "illegalproceeding which had been brought to their attention." The editor of the_Midnight American_, with his usual impetuosity, threatened a _habeascorpus_.
Then the District Attorney sent for the Assistant, and the two had ahurried consultation. Finally the chief shook his head, saying: "There'sno way out of it. You'll have to go to trial at once. Perhaps you cansecure a plea. We can't afford any more delay. Put it on for to-morrow."
The next day "Part One of the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, inand for the County of New York," was crowded to suffocation, for thedramatic nature of Jim's act of self-sacrifice had not been forgotten,and a keen interest remained in its _denouement_. It was a brilliantJanuary noon, and the sun poured through the great windows, castingirregular patches of light upon the throng within. High above the crowdof lawyers, witnesses, and policemen sat the Judge; below him, the clerkand Assistant District Attorney conferred together as to the order inwhich the cases should be tried; to the left reclined a row ofnon-combatants, "district leaders," ex-police magistrates, and a fewprivileged spectators; outside the rail crowded the members of the"criminal bar"; while in the main body of the room the benches weretightly packed with loafers, "runners" for the attorneys, curious women,indignant complainants, and sympathizing friends of the variousdefendants. Here no one was allowed to stand, but nearer the door thepressure became too great, and once more an overplus, new-comers,lawyers who could not force their way to the front, tardy policemen,persons who could not make up their minds to come in and sit down, andstragglers generally, formed a solid mass, absolutely blocking theentrance, and preventing those outside from getting in or anyone insidefrom getting out.
Around the room the huge pipes of the radiators clicked diligently; fullsteam was on, not a window open.
Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with severalinnuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who wouldconfess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense andtrouble of a trial, briefly opened the case.
The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness.He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air offinality in the direction of the jury.
"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired.
The lawyer shook his head.
Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent.
The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant,paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel.
"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go throughall this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.'He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance."
But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanksflickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the featuresof his client.
"Not on your _tin-type_!" he ejaculated.
Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced atrifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned inthe direction of the prisoner.
"Well, I'll let him plead to grand larceny instead of robbery," he said,with an air of acting against his better judgment.
Crookshanks grinned sardonically and again shook his head.
"Very well, then," said the prosecutor sternly, "your client will haveto take the consequences. Call the complainant."
"Daniel Farlan, take the witness'
chair."
The crowd in the court-room waited expectantly. The complainant,however, did not respond.
"Daniel Farlan! Daniel Farlan!" bawled the officer.
But the venerable Farlan came not. Perchance he was a-sleeping ora-hunting.
"If your Honor pleases," announced Dockbridge, "the complainant does notanswer. I must ask for an adjournment."
But in an instant the old war-horse, Crookshanks, was upon his feetsnorting for the battle.
"I protest against any such proceeding!" he shouted, his voice tremblingwith well-simulated indignation. "My client is in jeopardy. I insistthat this trial go on here and now!"
Dockbridge smiled deprecatingly, but the jury and spectators showedplainly that they were of Mr. Crookshanks's opinion. The Judge hesitatedfor a moment, but his duty was clear. There was no question but that Jim_had_ been put in jeopardy.
"You must go on with the trial, Mr. Dockbridge," he announcedreluctantly. "The jury has been sworn, and a witness has testified. Itis too late to stop now."
The Assistant was forced to admit that he had no further evidence athand.
"What!" cried the Judge. "No further evidence! Well, proceed with thedefence!"
Dockbridge dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead, while the juryglanced inquiringly in the direction of the defendant. But nowCrookshanks, the hero of a hundred legal conflicts, the hope and trustof all defenceless criminals, slowly arose and buttoned his threadbarefrock-coat. He looked the Court full in the eye. The prosecutor heignored.
"If your Honor please," began the old lawyer gently, "I move that theCourt direct the jury to acquit, on the ground that the People havefailed to make out a case."
The Assistant jumped to his feet. The spectators stared in amazement atthe audacity of the request. The Judge's face became a study.
"What do you mean, Mr. Crookshanks?" he exclaimed. "This man is aself-confessed criminal. Do you hear, sir, a _self-confessed criminal_."
But the anger of the Court had no terrors for little Crookshanks. Hewaited calmly until the Judge had concluded, smiled deferentially, andresumed his remarks, as if the bench were in its usual state ofplacidity.
"I must beg most respectfully to point out to your Honor that theCriminal Code provides that the confession of a defendant is not ofitself enough to warrant his conviction _without additional proof thatthe crime charged has been committed_. May I be pardoned for indicatingto your Honor that the only evidence in this proceeding against myclient is his own confession, made, I believe, some time ago, undercircumstances which were, to say the least, unusual. While I do notpretend to doubt the sincerity of his motives on that occasion, or tocontest at this juncture the question of his moral guilt, the factremains _that there has been no additional proof_ adduced upon any ofthe material points in the case, to wit, that the complainant everexisted, ever possessed a ring, or that it was ever taken from him."
He paused, coughed slightly, and, removing from his green bag a foldedpaper, continued: "In addition, it is my duty to inform the Court that aperson named Farlan left the jurisdiction of this tribunal upon the dayafter Monohan's conviction of the offence for which my client is now ontrial.
"After such an unfortunate mistake," said Crookshanks with an almostimperceptible twinkle in his "jury eye," "he can hardly be expected toassist voluntarily in a second prosecution. I hold in my hand hisaffidavit that he has left the State never to return."
The Judge had left his chair and was striding up and down the dais. Henow turned wrathfully upon poor Dockbridge.
"What do you mean by trying a case before me prepared in such a fashion?This is a disgraceful miscarriage of justice! I shall lay the matterbefore the District Attorney in person! Mr. Crookshanks has correctlystated the law. I am absolutely compelled to discharge this defendant,who, by his own statement, ought to be incarcerated in State Prison!I--I--the Court has been hoodwinked! The District Attorney maderidiculous! As for you," casting a withering glance upon the prisoner,"if I ever have the opportunity, I shall punish you as you deserve!"
Dead silence fell upon the court-room. The clerk arose and cleared histhroat.
"Mr. Foreman, have you agreed upon a verdict? What say you? Do you findthe defendant guilty, or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," replied the foreman, somewhat doubtfully.
There was a smothered demonstration in the rear of the court-room. A fewspectators had the temerity to clap their hands.
"Silence! Silence in the court!" shouted the Captain.
The clerk faced the prisoner.
"James Hawkins, alias James Hawkinson, alias Supple Jim, you aredischarged."
As our hero stepped from behind the bar, Paddy was the first to grasphis hand.
"You're the cleverest boy in New York!" he muttered enthusiastically;"and say, Jim," he lowered his voice--could it be with a shade ofembarrassment?--"you're a hero all right, into the bargain."
"Oh, cut that out!" answered Jim. "Wasn't I playing a sure thing? Andwasn't it worth three months,--and ten dollars _per_ to the old guy forstaying over in Jersey,--to put 'em in a hole like that?"
And the two of them, relieved by this evasion of an impending anddepressing cloud of moral superiority, went out, with others, to get adrink.