Blind Tim, and other Christmas stories written for children

by Charles O. Solberg

The police court was well filled with a queer crowd. Several blue-coated men stood about the sidewalk, the door, and the room. The dingy, dirty chairs were mostly filled with people not altogether pleasant to see. Haggard faces and sour looks were on every hand.

“Is he here?” was Tim’s whisper, as he pressed his father’s hand.

It was only too true that Alex was there. On a bench lined with prisoners, two ragged, hard-featured young fellows beside him, sat Alex, his head bowed in shame. He had not observed the new arrivals.

Tim could smell the stale tobacco. It did not need eyes to show him the dirty, overloaded spittoons. He could not see the high and dirty walls, the smoky ceiling all littered with cobwebs, the windows that had known no other cleaning but the dirty rain in many a day. The gas burned dimly over the desks and above, for the day was cloudy. The air was too bad for the light to burn clearly. Nor could he see the long, low desk, and the judge who sat with other court officials about him.

A case was called which did not at the moment interest him, but at which his father drew a quick breath. One of the boys at Alex’s side was called forward, the charges read, and testimony taken.

A hold-up! There was reason why Mr. Rudiger should start. A short examination revealed that the boy had been several times in court before. A leer and grin were on his face as he took his seat. The other of Alex’s companions was called, and the situation seemed much the same. He carried a dark and rebellious look as if he felt himself outrageously treated, and would say little.

Tim did not realize that Alex had been called until he heard his brother’s voice. At the word, he grasped his father’s hand in agitation, and slipped down from the seat. He stood by his father’s knee as Alex gave his testimony.

“Now,” said the judge, “tell us the truth.” He spoke kindly, and his look was encouraging, for he saw the boy was not of the class represented in the other two.

“We went down to Frost Street about dark,” said Alex, “near the crossing of the railroad, and stands there in a shady place. Soon there comes along a feller, and one of the boys he steps out and shows the gun, and the other goes thru his clothes. Then we starts up a alley by a big factory and cuts across to Grant Avenue. When we was walkin’ along, Pete sees some fellers across the street, and he says, ‘Plain clothes,’ joking like. Mike only laughs. Soon we comes to the corner of Baldwin Place, where there is an old yard for scrap iron and such things with a high fence all ’round. We was talkin’ and countin’ what was in the pocketbook, when the gates opened, and there was the plainclothes men, ready for us.”

Cross-examination brought out the fact that Alex had never before shared in such an undertaking. That he had gotten in with his associates at Sunday ball games, and had entered upon the plan for a lark. The judge then began to ask about his home and parents, but the answers were not willing. Tim suddenly stumbled his way forward, and before the astonished court the blind, crippled boy took his place by the side of Alex. He felt about until he found Alex.