"Guilty?" asks the clerk.
"Guilty," whispers Maria.
"That's all," says the other. "Stand back there and give some one else a chance."
Pat, holding the papers in his hands, escorts Maria to the end of the line, and Appleboy returns to his seat. In his deposition he has stated that his occupation is that of "Bank President" and he has instantly observed a change of attitude in those about him. "Rounds" even expels two unsavory characters for the purpose of making room for him in the front row.
In a moment more the judge enters hurriedly, takes his seat at the desk, and begins rapidly to dispose of the file of prisoners before him. One after another the officers press forward, make a brief statement of the circumstances of the arrest, and the prisoner is led away with a fine, a lecture, or a sentence of a few days in the workhouse. There is no opportunity for other cases until all the "disorderlies" and street-walkers have been dealt with. Half-past nine comes, quarter of ten and ten o'clock, the hour at which Mr. Appleboy usually makes a leisurely descent to his office, but still there is no respite. The monotonous business continues. But Mr. Appleboy's time is valuable, and he begins to fume and fidget. He thinks of the dollars he is losing by performing his duty as a citizen.
Pat has gradually neared the desk. At length there is but one more case to be heard, and the "Rounds" summons our hero once more inside. Maria is thrust in front of the platform and stands with her hands on the rail. It has seemed an easy thing to Mr. Appleboy for a complainant to tell his story, and he has smiled scornfully to himself at the wandering and unconvincing statements he has heard during the morning, but as he is pushed upon the platform under the sharp eye of the magistrate, his courage begins to ooze out of him. He wishes again for the hundredth time he had let Maria go off with the old teapot. The very thought of tea sickens him.
"Next," calls the "Rounds," as a dowdy young woman is led away, weeping hysterically.
Pat hands up the papers.
"Maria Holohan," mutters the judge, running his eye over the "information." "Stole a teapot,—um—um—Is this the defendant?"
"He indentifies her," answers Pat.