“I remember one thing,” said Johnny. “It came to me at this very instant. I didn’t see the man’s face, but I saw his hand, a large dark hand, and it was deeply scarred. It had a hole in the middle of the palm.”
“Good!” exclaimed Drew. “Couldn’t be better. Take us a long way, that will.
“And now we must catch three winks. To-morrow is a big day. To-morrow you are to be our star witness.”
CHAPTER VII
IN COURT
Johnny and Drew were up at eight o’clock next morning. At 8:30 the black-haired, dark-eyed girl with smiling lips and dimpled cheeks brought in steaming coffee and some unusual but delicious pastry.
Drew called her Rosy, and patted her on the arm. Rosy’s dimples deepened.
Who was Rosy? Why did she live in that other shack among the walls of brick and mortar? Why did Drew room in this odd place? Johnny wanted to ask all these questions. Realizing that their answers did not greatly concern him, he asked none of them.
At ten o’clock he and Drew were seated on the front bench of the “Local 46,” the particular court room in which their pickpocket case was to be tried.
The whole scene was packed with interest for Johnny. The judge in his box-like coop, the young prosecutor and the deputies standing below, the motley throng that filled the seats at his back, each waiting his turn to appear as complainant, defendant or witness, made a picture he would not soon forget.
The judge was a dark-skinned man of foreign appearance. His hair was long. His eyes were large, and at times piercing. He sat slumped down in his chair. When sudden problems arose, he had a trick of bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and peering at a prisoner as a hawk might peer at a squirrel or a mouse.