Part 12 (1/2)

”He knows how to talk,” said the Governor. ”He brought my heart up in my mouth as no one has done in years. Now, I must get word to some of the people in New York to find out who he is, and if this case has any concealed boomerang in it.”

The dinner was a very quiet one with only the Governor and his wife. The former must have told his better-half something about Peter, for she studied him with a very kind look in her face, and prosaic and silent as Peter was, she did not seem bored. After the dinner was eaten, and some one called to talk politics with the Governor, she took Peter off to another room, and made him tell her about the whole case, and how he came to take it up, and why he had come to the Governor for help. She cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went upstairs and looked at her own two sleeping boys, quite large enough to fight the world on their own account, but still little children to the mother's heart, and had another cry over them. She went downstairs later to the Governor's study, and interrupting him in the work to which he had settled down, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. ”You must help him, William,” she said. ”Do everything you can to have those scoundrels punished, and let him do it.”

The Governor only laughed; but he pushed back his work, and his wife sat down, and told of her admiration and sympathy for Peter's fight. There was a bad time ahead for the criminal and his backers. They might have political influence of the strongest character, fighting their battle, but there was a bigger and more secret one at work. Say what we please, the strongest and most subtle ”pull” this world as yet contains is the under-current of a woman's influence.

Peter went back to New York that night, feeling hopeful, yet doubtful.

It almost seemed impossible that he had succeeded, yet at twenty-three, failure is hard to believe in. So he waited, hoping to see some move on the part of the State, and dreaming of nothing better. But better came, for only five days after his return his mail brought him a large envelope, and inside that envelope was a special commission, which made Peter a deputy of the Attorney-General, to prosecute in the Court of Sessions, the case of ”The People of the State of New York _versus_ James Goldman.” If any one could have seen Peter's face, as he read the purely formal instrument, he would not have called it dull or heavy. For Peter knew that he had won; that in place of justice blocking and hindering him, every barrier was crushed down; that this prosecution rested with no officials, but was for him to push; that that little piece of parchment bound every court to support him; that if necessary fifty thousand troops would enforce the power which granted it. Within three hours, the first formal steps to place the case in the courts had been taken, and Peter was working at the evidence and law in the matter.

These steps produced a prompt call from Dummer, who showed considerably less a.s.surance than hitherto, even though he tried to take Peter's success jauntily. He wanted Peter to drop the whole thing, and hinted at large sums of money, but Peter at first did not notice his hints, and finally told him that the case should be tried. Then Dummer pleaded for delay. Peter was equally obdurate. Later they had a contest in the court over this. But Peter argued in a quiet way, which nevertheless caught the attention of the judge, who ended the dispute by refusing to postpone. The judge hadn't intended to act in this way, and was rather surprised at his own conduct. The defendant's lawyer was furious.

No stone was left unturned, however, to prevent the case going to trial.

Pressure of the sharpest and closest kind was brought to bear on the Governor himself--pressure which required backbone to resist. But he stood by his act: perhaps because he belonged to a different party than that in control of the city government; perhaps because of Peter's account, and the truthfulness in his face as he told it; perhaps because the Attorney-General had found it legal; perhaps because of his wife; perhaps it was a blending of all these. Certain it is, that all attempts to block failed, and in the last week in August it came before the court.

Peter had kept his clients informed as to his struggles, and they were tremendously proud of the big battle and ultimate success, as indeed were the residents of the whole district, who felt that it was really their own case. Then the politicians were furious and excited over it, while the almost unexampled act of the Governor had created a good deal of public interest in the case. So the court was packed and the press had reporters in attendance. Since the trial was fully reported, it is needless to go over the testimony here. What Peter could bring out, is already known. The defence, by ”experts,” endeavored to prove that the cowsheds were not in a really unhygienic condition; that feeding cows on ”mash” did not affect their milk, nor did mere ”skin sores;” that the milk had been sold by mistake, in ignorance that it was thirty-six hours old, and skimmed; and that the proof of this particular milk being the cause of the deaths was extremely inadequate and doubtful. The only dramatic incident in the testimony was the putting the two little Dooleys (who had returned in fat and rosy condition, the day before) on the stand.

”Did you find country milk different from what you have here?” Peter asked the youngest.

”Oh, yes,” she said. ”Here it comes from a cart, but in the country it squirts from a cow.”

”Order,” said the judge to the gallery.

”Does it taste differently?”

”Yes. It's sweet, as if they put sugar in it. It's lovely I like cow milk better than cart milk.”

”d.a.m.n those children!” said Dummer, to the man next him.

The event of the trial came, however, when Peter summed up. He spoke quietly, in the simplest language, using few adjectives and no invective. But as the girl at the Pierces' dinner had said, ”he describes things so that one sees them.” He told of the fever-stricken cows, and he told of the little fever-stricken children in such a way that the audience sobbed; his clients almost had to be ordered out of court; the man next Dummer mopped his eyes with his handkerchief; the judge and jury thoughtfully covered their eyes (so as to think the better); the reporters found difficulty (owing to the glary light), in writing the words despite their determination not to miss one; and even the prisoner wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Peter was unconscious that he was making a great speech; great in its simplicity, and great in its pathos. He afterwards said he had not given it a moment's thought and had merely said what he felt. Perhaps his conclusion indicated why he was able to speak with the feeling he did. For he said:

”This is not merely the case of the State _versus_ James Goldman. It is the case of the tenement-house children, against the inhumanity of man's greed.”

Dummer whispered to the man next him, ”There's no good. He's done for us.” Then he rose, and made a clever defence. He knew it was wasting his time. The judge charged against him, and the jury gave the full verdict: ”Man-slaughter in the first degree.” Except for the desire for it, the sentence created little stir. Every one was still feeling and thinking of Peter's speech.

And to this day that speech is talked of in ”the district.”

CHAPTER XVI.

THE CONSEQUENCES.

Nor was it the district alone which talked of the speech. Perhaps the residents of it made their feelings most manifest, for they organized a torchlight procession that night, and went round and made Peter an address of thanks. Mr. Dennis Moriarty being the spokesman. The judge shook hands with him after the trial, and said that he had handled his case well. The defendant's lawyer told him he ”knew his business.” A number of the reporters sought a few words with him, and blended praise with questions.

The reporters did far more than this, however. It was the dull newspaper season, and the case had turned out to be a thoroughly ”journalistic”

one. So they questioned and interviewed every one concerned, and after cleverly winnowing the chaff, which in this case meant the dull, from the gleanings, most of them gave several columns the next morning to the story. Peter's speech was printed in full, and proved to read almost as well as it had sounded. The reporters were told, and repeated the tales without much attempt at verification, that Peter had taken the matter up without hope of profit; had paid the costs out of his own pocket; had refused to settle ”though offered nine thousand dollars:” had ”saved the Dooley children's lives by sending them into the country;” and ”had paid for the burials of the little victims.” So all gave him a puff, and two of the better sort wrote really fine editorials about him. At election time, or any other than a dull season, the case would have had small attention, but August is the month, to reverse an old adage, when ”any news is good news.”

The press began, too, a crusade against the swill-milk dealers, and the men who had allowed all this to be possible. ”What is the Health Board about, that poison for children can be sold in the public streets?”

”Where is the District Attorney, that prosecutions for the public good have to be brought by public-spirited citizens?” they demanded.

Lynx-eyed reporters tracked the milk-supplies of the city, and though the alarm had been given, and many cows had been hastily sent to the country, they were able to show up certain companies, and print details which were quite lurid enough, when sufficiently ”colored” by their skilful pens. Most residents of New York can remember the ”swill-milk”

or ”stump-tail milk” exposures and prosecutions of that summer, and of the reformation brought about thereby in the Board of Health. As the details are not pleasant reading, any one who does not remember is referred to the daily press, and, if they want horrible pictures, to Frank Leslie's Ill.u.s.trated Weekly. Except for the papers, it is to be questioned if Peter's case would have resulted in much more than the punishment of the man actually convicted; but by the press taking the matter up, the moment's indignation was deepened and intensified to a degree which well-nigh swept every cow-stable off the island, and drove the proper officials into an activity leading to great reforms.