Under the Law

by Edwina Stanton Babcock

There was silence as the group faced him, such deep solemnity on the young faces that Shipman all but laughed; the lawyer, accustomed as he was to studying all phases of human conduct, found himself amazed at the unanimity of serious purposes underlying this group that he knew to be the most unruly, unpromising of all unpromising small-town groups.

"Judge Bogart is an infallible man," he repeated softly. "His suggestions——" It was evident that the lawyer expected a "suggestion" from Judge Bogart's daughter.

But it was as if Sard had hardly heard him. At last: "My father prefers not to discuss these things with us." The girl said it very quietly and there was no hint of criticism of her father, but she went on thoughtfully, "Perhaps, though, he belongs to something that is becoming worn out," again she made the curious despairing little gesture, "mightn't it be possible that some day all these things will be changed, that there will be no more 'life sentences,' that we who come after will see the way to make things better, fairer?"

Shipman laughed a little ironically; he turned to the young lawyer. "How would Miss Bogart like it if she had to give the life sentences?" he asked lightly, but the girl had her answer ready and she gave it with a powerful conviction that arrested him.

"I should not want to live myself," she said in low, distinct tones. "I should not want to live if I thought we should always have to have crime in the world." Sard faced him a little defiantly; she was remembering the voice of poor Dora in the kitchen. "Is it justice," I ask you, "is it justice to take a young boy like that, take him for life, never give him another chance?"

Another of the group now spoke up. "Lots of men and women are at large who ought to be in prison."

Watts smiled. "Lots of boats do sink on the sea, but that is no reason why we should build our boats so that they will sink. Law, you see, is society's effort to protect its best from its worst." He looked interestedly at the young speaker. "You couldn't marry and have a home without law," curiously studying the boy.

"And I couldn't get a divorce without law, some kinds," grinned the cub. It was a technical retort, the typical "smart" answer of the up-to-date youngster. It gave his group courage; there were various asides among the members of the circle, a few titters and smothered witticisms.

Shipman rather enjoyed the little drama being enacted before him; he smoked imperturbably while he appeared to give this answer thought. "I suppose we ought to remember that the law that makes divorce possible rose first in the minds of men and women," he said evenly. "But we must ask ourselves how well those minds are instructed. In any case, I take it, the law, no matter how badly interpreted, is society's weapon against itself! New laws put upon paper and framed by act of Legislature or of Congress are to counteract certain old laws which were inadequate. When I insisted that your little friend extinguish her cigarette," the lawyer gravely searched the darkening faces in the moonlight, "it was merely to enforce a law which makes forest fires less probable. When I enact a law that separates a good woman from a bad man or vice versa, I protect the weaker against the stronger; when I support a law that insists that a boy's liberty be taken from him, after a dastardly murder, I make it possible for people to move about with varying degrees of safety from like murder. It is not my affair if these laws are not modified. It is for you and people like you to keep laws and by keeping them gain the power to make better ones."

The circle, a little daunted by his calm willingness to discuss, were disposed to receive this without comment. The little lawyer in the owl glasses kicked rather disconsolately at a bunch of turf, the other lads fidgeted. Somehow the crusade to intercede on behalf of Terence O'Brien had lost its moving-picture sensationalism. They realized that they had run up against a quiet man of steel and iron, who was more or less amused and not very impressed by them; there were murmurings and half-formed suggestions that they should leave until Sard, with a kind of resolution, rose suddenly from her seat and stood in front of Shipman. She looked directly into his face and he saw determination in her; the sort that does and dies, but does not abandon its object.