Part 28 (2/2)
”What was her answer?”
”That it was his own pipe he had smoked for eleven years.”
This statement produced a visible effect on the spectators. It concluded the defense for Walter Riley. After the prosecuting attorneys had pleaded for sentence, s.h.a.garach briefly addressed the judge.
”The real criminals in this case, your honor, are the last two witnesses--adults of responsible years, and one of them, at least, enjoying a reputable position. They were the receivers of the stolen goods and the encouragers of the crimes. Were I prosecuting attorney, I should suspend the cases against the young defendants until justice had been done to both of these maturer thieves.
”I cannot look upon the deed committed on the lonely roadside at Hillsborough as a serious offense, for which our code provides a penalty. It was a prank, played in the ebullient spirit of mischief, but given an ambiguous color by Miss Barlow's well-meant outcry of warning. Evil resides in the intentions of the mind. Not until Fenton and Watts disposed of the property which was not theirs was their misdemeanor consummated and an unhappy practical jest warped into a legal theft.
”Even then, I might recommend clemency to all three offenders, on account of their youth and the rest.i.tution of the property. For I have no doubt that the missing bicycle will be found installed beside the meerschaum pipe in Simon Rabofsky's back room. But, considering the evil a.s.sociations which these boys have formed, and their unfortunate homes, Fenton having no mother and Watts an intemperate one, I believe that a short period of retirement, under the regular discipline of the reformatory, would be of advantage to them.
”But the case of Riley is different. His character is better than that of the others. He is fortunate in possessing an excellent mother, who depends upon him in part for support. Moreover, the refusal on his part to dispose of the bicycle, against a pressure few boys of his age could resist, shows a moral courage which is exceedingly rare in my experience, and which only needs fostering to develop its possessor into an admirable man. I, therefore, respectfully suggest that Riley be placed on probation.”
If the judge were not so new to the bench he would have known that s.h.a.garach's addresses were always brief. But, knowing the great lawyer only by reputation, he judged that the brevity of his plea denoted a perfunctory interest in the case. The sentencing was deferred until 4 o'clock, when a whole batch of prisoners filed into the ”cage,” one after another, to receive their punishments.
”Ochone!” cried a maundering old woman after every sentence, and even the court officers whispered to each other: ”Perkins is having a picnic to-day.”
But there was little severity in the sentence accorded to the white-faced youth who came just before the three gamins. Emily recognized in amazement Mr. Arthur Kennedy Foxhall.
”In consideration of your social standing,” said the judge, ”of your promise to reform and of the fact that your weakness is one which injures only yourself, I will mitigate the penalty.”
Then the clerk read out a fine of $20 and costs. The opium parlors of Hi Wong King had recently been raided. That is to say, four tall, youngish men had entered one evening and called for dinner. For Hi Wong King's restaurant was open to all. Chicken wings had been served them and an aromatic salad. Jelly pats had been dropped over their heads into dainty plates, on which droll baboons scratched their heads and tigers grimaced fiercely. Such is the art of the orient. Tea leaves newly steeped in a bowl had taught them their first lesson in the needlessness of sugar and milk; and they had practiced with the merry chopsticks, a pair in each hand. Then, by way of diversion, they broke through the painted screens into Hi Wong King's rear parlors and arrested eight opium smokers, Mongol and Caucasian, of both s.e.xes; among these one who was dreaming over a peculiarly elegant pipe proved to be Emily's admirer.
”Riley, Fenton and Watts, stand up,” said the clerk. Walter's cheeks were burning red, as he stood between his companions. They seemed to feel the disgrace less keenly and looked at the clerk with sheepish and cunning glances.
”Fenton and Watts, you are sentenced to the reform school during your minority, and Riley for the s.p.a.ce of one year!”
”Ochone!” broke out the maundering old woman and a chill fell on Emily's heart. Then the voice of s.h.a.garach was heard in wrath. The building seemed to quake with its power. It was such a voice as that Roman tribune may have owned who could make himself heard from end to end of the forum.
”Sir, you have just imposed a nominal fine on a mature man, who has not only, as you speciously alleged, ruined himself by a degrading vice, but done what example could to spread its contagion. Immediately after you sentence three poor children to long terms of imprisonment. Are you ignorant that four in seven of all who enter those inst.i.tutions return to them sooner or later? Do you see no possible spark of reform in the natures of these boys, no means of tiding over the danger period of youth, the formative years, the sowing season? Or do you think to scatter seeds inside a jail and reap some other crop than crime? Sir, it is not my sense of justice that social standing should condone offenses and social obscurity magnify them.”
The ticking of the clock could be heard when s.h.a.garach paused. Officer looked at officer, as if they expected immediately to be called upon to execute a sentence of contempt on the audacious lawyer. But s.h.a.garach's reputation was great, and Judge Perkins could not afford to inaugurate his session in the Criminal Court by a conflict with such a man. He only stroked his chin nervously and pulled at his severe legal whiskers.
”I do not know which is the more deserving of censure,” continued s.h.a.garach, ”the dangerous laxity of the one judgment, which virtually acquits a convicted lawbreaker, or the atrocious severity of the other, which condemns to a year's whole punishment the innocent act, already more than atoned for, of a boy for whose uprightness I would pledge my personal word.”
”Oh, if you are willing to vouch for the boy's good behavior,” said the judge, ”I will put him on probation and reconsider the other sentences.”
”I will accept the charge,” said s.h.a.garach.
Emily's heart leaped for joy, and Mrs. Riley could not be restrained from rus.h.i.+ng forward and embracing Walter in rapture. But the most touching moment came when Walter walked over to s.h.a.garach and, with tears in his eyes, but a stanch voice, said: ”I want to show you I am grateful.”
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
COUNT L'ALIENADO.
”Here is the subst.i.tute I promised you, Rosalie. Miss March--Count L'Alienado.”
There was a vacant seat in the barouche that stood before the Marches' villa. It had been destined for Tristram, but even behind the black gla.s.ses he wore the August suns.h.i.+ne dazzled his eyes, so he was compelled at the last moment to excuse himself.
”Mme. Violet--his lords.h.i.+p, the Earl of Marmouth.”
Count L'Alienado was thus informally presented to his other two riding companions. There was just a suggestion of Spanish reserve in his obeisance, and he bowed a graceful adieu to Tristram before mounting to his seat.
It was curious that Tristram should have been the first to break the count's incognito. He had arrived at Lenox a few days before, attended by a single valet, and registered at the hotel as M. L. L'Alienado, Valencia. Though not imposing in stature, he exhibited a head of rare distinction--the black beard trimmed to an exquisite point at the chin and the curled mustaches setting off a pair of glowing eyes which riveted the beholder from the moment he met their gaze.
As the artist spoke Spanish, they had become friends in an afternoon.
”We have flattered ourselves that the coaching party is something purely American,” said Rosalie, who sat beside him, to the stranger.
”I am glad of it for the color. That is an element I have observed to be generally a little lacking in your life.”
”Color and lordliness,” sighed Mme. Violet. ”Ah, there are no troubadours, no spurred cavaliers, no mailed knights in this busy America--not even scarlet soldiers parading. You men are so dingy, dingy in your black propriety. Why be so funereal? My heart goes out sometimes to a very mountebank, all spangled and jingling like a tambourine when he moves. Color! Give me color. Ah, it is not we who have taste, it is the canaille! It is Victorine, my lady's maid, with her bonnet-ribbons flaunting all the colors of the rainbow.”
A silk banner lay outspread in Rosalie's lap, throwing warm blushes against her throat. It was the prize for the gentlemen's steeplechase, which was to close the programme of the afternoon.
”Scarlet, sea-blue and gold,” she cried, stroking the ta.s.seled fringe which justified the last addition. ”Are not these the primary hues, the major chord of color, and the white their perfect blending?”
The Violet laughed. When addressing her directly or referring to her in her own presence, people carefully called her Mme. Violet. But to the world, out of earshot, she was simply the Violet, just as Cleopatra is Cleopatra. It was taken for granted that her blood was French, but Count L'Alienado, noting her fawn-brown eyes and the strong black hair, which made Rosalie's fluff appear like carded golden silk--thought he detected the marks of the Romany. Yet the full mouth hinted at a Spanish cross. She was not very young, or, at first sight, very beautiful, but she possessed a diablerie stronger than girlhood or beauty, and gossip said the Earl of Marmouth was succ.u.mbing to its spell.
”The signal!” cried Rosalie, as the notes of a hunting-horn pealed, faint and mellow, from a distant quarter. ”It is time to start.”
For several minutes the occupants of the barouche lay back, reveling in the luxury of the cus.h.i.+ons and in the changing view which the drive afforded. Other equipages swept into the main road here and there, from cottage and mansion and by-path, each freighted with its cargo of flower-raimented beauty. Marshals in velvet hunting garb galloped up and down, with low salutes to the pa.s.sengers and brusque orders to the coachmen. On the top of a little hill there came a pause while the procession was arranging itself, and the conversation rippled out again.
”The color is overdone,” said the Earl of Marmouth. ”It smacks of Latin degeneracy.”
”Such as appears in the canvases of t.i.tian?” asked Count L'Alienado quietly.
The Violet, sitting opposite him, caressed her bronze-eyed spaniel to her cheek, so that she might survey the newcomer more closely. His lords.h.i.+p, at her side, alone of the party had sat upright during the ride.
”You are Spanish, not Italian, I am told,” he said, much in the tone of a hotel clerk demanding the settlement of an overdue bill. The Violet's eyes met the count's interrogatively.
”Question me in Castilian,” he smiled.
”Where are your estates?”
”In Valencia.”
”I was there last autumn. I seem to have overlooked the L'Alienados.”
”Our estates are in dispute with another branch of the family.”
Marmouth grunted.
<script>