“I’ll lend you a gun.”
“Guns make such a lot of noise. Old Silent Murder here will do as well.”
“Guess I’d better be going.” Herman McCarthey rose. “Got to catch my train.”
“Train?”
“Yes. I live in the country. Little village; one store, one church, post office, few homes. Need the peace I find there to go with the rush of the city and this business of hunting crooks. It’s good to wake up with a breath of dew in your nostrils, and the robins singing their morning song. Nothing like it.”
“No,” said Johnny, “there isn’t.” He was thinking of the woods by his fishing hole in the far away North Peninsula, where the song sparrows fairly burst their throats with melody.
“Good night,” said Johnny.
“Good night, son.” The sergeant was gone.
* * * * * * * *
The State Street Police Court with its humorous Punch and Judy judge became a place of great fascination to Johnny. In the past he had dreamed of courts where trials dragged through weary months; where prisoners languished in jail; and a man might be sentenced to five years of hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. How different was this court where a pretty lady might steal a dress she did not need, and never go to jail at all.