Part 3 (1/2)

”Who started it?” asked the magistrate.

”She did, your honor. She ain't never home when I wants my vittles cooked, and she blows my money so there ain't nothing in the house to eat for meself. She's always startin' things, and she did this time when I tells her to come on home....”

”Just a minute,” interrupted the magistrate. ”What is the cause of this, little woman? Who struck you on the eye?”

The woman's lips trembled, and she glanced at the big fellow beside her. He glowered down at her with a threatening twist of his mouth.

”Why, your honor, you see, the baby was sick, and Joe, he went out with the boys pay night, and we didn't have a cent in the flat, and I had to...”

”Shut up, or I'll bust you when I get you alone!” muttered Joe, until the judge pounded on the table with his gavel.

”You won't be where you can bust her!” sharply exclaimed the magistrate. ”Go on, little woman. When did he hit you?”

The wife trembled and hesitated. The magistrate nodded encouragingly.

”Why weren't you home?” he asked softly.

”My neighbor, Mrs. Goldberg, likes the baby, and she was showing me how to make some syrup for its croup, your honor, sir. We haven't got any light--it's a quarter gas meter, and there wasn't anything to cook with, and I had the baby in her flat, and Joe he just got home--he hadn't been there ... since ... Sat.u.r.day night ... I didn't have anything to eat--since then, myself.”

Joe whirled about threateningly, but the officer caught his uplifted arm.

”She lies. She ain't straight, that's what it is. Hanging around them _Sheenies_, and sayin' it's the baby. She lies!”

The little woman's face paled, and she staggered back, her tremulous fingers clutching at the empty air as her great eyes opened with horror at his words.

”I'm not _straight_? Oh, oh, Joe! You're killing me!”

She moaned as though the man had beat her again.

”Six months!” rasped out the magistrate between his teeth. ”And I'm going to put you under a peace bond when you get out. Little woman, you're dismissed.”

Joe was roughly jostled out into the detention room again by the rosy-cheeked policeman, whose face was neither so jolly nor rosy now.

The woman sobbed, and leaned across the rail, her outstretched arms held pleadingly toward the magistrate.

”Oh, judge, sir ... don't send him up for six months. How can the baby and I live? We have no one, not one soul to care for us, and I'm expecting...”

Mercifully her nerves gave way, and she fainted. The gruff old court attendant, now as gentle as a nurse, caught her, and with the gateman, carried her at the judge's direction, toward his own private office, whither hurried Mrs. Grey, the matron.

The magistrate blew his nose, rubbed his gla.s.ses, and irritably looked at the next paper.

”Jimmie Olinski. Officer Burke. Hurry up, I want to call recess!” he exclaimed.

Burke, in a daze of thoughts, pulled himself together, and then took the arm of Jimmie the Monk, who advanced with manner docile and obsequious. He was not a stranger to the path to the rail. Another officer led Annie forward. Burke took the chair.

”Don't waste my time,” snapped the magistrate. ”What's this? Another fight?”

Officer 4434 explained the situation.