The Prisoner at the Bar: Sidelights on the Administration of Criminal Justice

by Arthur Cheney Train

"Well, the first thing you'll do," remarks the officer, "'ll be to walk to the house. Come on, now!" And forthwith he drags Maria to the door, and, holding her firmly by the wrist, marches her upon the sidewalk. Mr. Appleboy, the teapot clasped to his bosom, follows immediately behind. Their appearance is greeted with vociferous approval by the waiting crowd, who fall in and escort the group towards the police station. But Maria's strength fails her, and, presently, with a groan she collapses. Perhaps the drop too much has taken effect in her legs. At all events, despite the efforts of the officer, she refuses to move, and remains limp. The crowd has now become so dense as entirely to obstruct all traffic in the street, long lines of electric cars leading in each direction up the avenue, motor-men and conductors forming a strong adjunct to those giving gratuitous advice. Two grocery wagons get their wheels locked in the throng. Some one telephones to the station house. At last the distant clanging of the patrol is heard. The crowd scatters, the carts and cabs extricate themselves, and the "hurry-up wagon" backs to the sidewalk with a flourish, two more coppers swinging on behind. They bundle Maria unceremoniously inside, escort her erstwhile employer with hardly more courtesy into the same vehicle, and toss in the teapot: the gong rings: and Mr. Appleboy starts upon his task of bringing an evil-doer to justice, and proving himself worthy of the proud title of citizen.

The drive to the station seems hours long, and the fumes of whiskey are very evident upon Maria. The officers are taciturn. The nose has been knocked off the teapot. Mr. Appleboy, holding himself tense in his seat, endeavors not to be jostled against the lady who has, previously, cooked his meals. Now and again she addresses him in no complimentary terms. She has by this time reached the belligerent stage, although she has no thought of denying her guilt.

The wagon draws up with a jerk in front of the precinct station house. Into a second crowd of gamins and loafers, Appleboy, still clutching the noseless teapot, emerges. He is followed by two policemen, half carrying, half supporting Maria. The doorman allows the party to enter, while repelling the inquisitive throng who would like to accompany them.

Once inside, Maria and her master, little distinction being made between them, are brought before the sergeant, who reclines behind a desk upon an elevated platform. This official interrogates Mr. Appleboy somewhat brusquely as to his name, address and the charge which he makes against the defendant, laboriously copying the answers in the "blotter." Maria, petrified with terror, absolutely refuses to answer any questions, and mutters incoherently to herself. The sergeant, satisfied of Mr. Appleboy's respectability by reason of his highly polished hat and gold-headed cane, commits the prisoner to a cell to await the hearing before the magistrate on the following morning. As the charge is one of felony, and as none of her friends as yet know of her detention or arrest, the question of her release upon bail does not arise, and after the sergeant has directed Mr. Appleboy to attend at the nearest police court the next morning at half-past eight punctually, that gentleman escapes down the steps of the precinct house, feeling that he has lived through untold ages of misery. The crowd cheers him as he descends, and he hastens homeward, the joy of release tempered only by the prospective agony of the morrow. The noseless teapot remains in the custody of the sergeant at the station house.

We can imagine Appleboy telling the story to his wife and children. How heroically he figures in his own account of the proceedings! How picturesquely penitent is Maria! How dramatic her capture in the very act of disposing of the stolen property! How the policemen cower at the majestic Appleboy's approach! By the time the old fellow has taken his coffee and lighted his perfecto he is almost restored to his former condition of pompous dignity. His intention to vindicate his position as a freeholder and to see that the law shall take its course is revived, and he dreams of Maria hurtling through the abyss with dozens of silver teapots tied about her ample neck.

DELAY THE FIRST

The next morning Appleboy orders his carriage and drives in state to the police court. His tall hat secures him easy access to a long room with a low ceiling, in which the air is full of strange odors.

Across the end of the court, two-thirds of the way towards the front, stretches an iron grating through which a gate admits police officers, local politicians, lawyers and the witnesses in any examination actually in progress. He enters the room exactly at eight-thirty. Already it is crowded, and, having no business inside the gate, he is forced to sit upon a bench in company with various friends of the divers defendants who have been committed during the night.

It is early as yet, and a substantial breakfast has put Mr. Appleboy in an optimistic frame of mind. Once the judge arrives how quickly the case will be disposed of and our hero receive the thanks of the magistrate for acting as he has done! But alas! Already a long file of officers is forming at the left of the desk behind the grating. Each officer has located at a safe distance one or more "drunks" or "disorderlies" whom he has gathered in during the preceding evening, and who have spent the night in the station house. The officers have recently come off post and now are waiting sleepily for the arrival of the magistrate to dispose of "The Watch."

By a quarter to nine the line has reached immense proportions. Twenty officers stand in single file and the procession of prisoners reaches to the doorway of the cells. In the meantime the jam in the room itself has become greater, and the heat and odors more oppressive. Mr. Appleboy wipes his brow with his silk handkerchief. He wishes he had brought his wife's smelling salts.