At the police court, next morning, under bail, appeared Carter Watson to answer the complaint of the People Versus Carter Watson, for the latter's assault and battery on one Patsy Horan. But first, the Prosecuting Attorney, who was paid to prosecute all offenders against the People, drew him aside and talked with him privately.
“Why not let it drop!” said the Prosecuting Attorney. “I tell you what you do, Mr. Watson: Shake hands with Mr. Horan and make it up, and we'll drop the case right here. A word to the Judge, and the case against you will be dismissed.”
“But I don't want it dismissed,” was the answer. “Your office being what it is, you should be prosecuting me instead of asking me to make up with this—this fellow.”
“Oh, I'll prosecute you all right,” retorted the Prosecuting Attorney.
“Also you will have to prosecute this Patsy Horan,” Watson advised; “for I shall now have him arrested for assault and battery.”
“You'd better shake and make up,” the Prosecuting Attorney repeated, and this time there was almost a threat in his voice.
The trials of both men were set for a week later, on the same morning, in Police Judge Witberg's court.
“You have no chance,” Watson was told by an old friend of his boyhood, the retired manager of the biggest paper in the city. “Everybody knows you were beaten up by this man. His reputation is most unsavory. But it won't help you in the least. Both cases will be dismissed. This will be because you are you. Any ordinary man would be convicted.”
“But I do not understand,” objected the perplexed sociologist. “Without warning I was attacked by this man; and badly beaten. I did not strike a blow. I—”
“That has nothing to do with it,” the other cut him off.