The officer pushed Simon and Bob without ceremony into the detention cell.
“Here are two more rascals who have given us a run for a few miles!” cried he in a very bad temper, hurrying to the stove which was burning in a corner. “A poor job we had chasing after such scamps, in a snow storm, on New Year’s Day!”
“Ah, well!” said his chief, fixing an icy glare on the two culprits. “Your names? Your age? Your address? Your father’s profession? Why did you steal that car? Where and how did you take it?”
The questions rained thick and harsh as the cuts of a whip.
“Gang of madcaps! Jailbirds! You will see! And now get along! Go and sleep on the bunks.”
The two boys, freezing and exhausted, were roughly pushed into a dimly lighted second room, where a drunkard, lying across a scanty mattress, was snoring like a locomotive. Another lad whom Simon recognized as one of the worst characters in the town, stared at them from his corner, then made a grimace.
“Good!” he said, as soon as the sergeant had gone. “I shall have nice company. Tell me how you’ve been caught, poor little angels!”
“Leave us in peace;” Simon showed his annoyance; “we are played out. Mind your own business.”
“Don’t put on so many airs! If we find ourselves in the same hotel this evening, that shows you are no better than I, doesn’t it?”
Simon and his chum squeezed closer together. “I’m starving,” whispered Bob.
“I’m not - but I’m freezing cold.” Simon’s thoughts were anything but cheerful ones. “Dad will send me to a Correction Home; he has threatened it several times.” He turned from side to side on his hard bed.
“Dad will thrash me unmercifully,” mused Bob, shivering till his chair shook. The ghastly pallor of Charlie, Patrick’s screams, the policeman’s ranting, were all revolving in Simon’s over-excited brain.
“Bob, are you asleep?” There was no reply. “He has forgotten it all, lucky chap!” sighed poor Simon, turning over for the hundredth time. Actually, Bob had dropped asleep, but he had to wake up on the entrance of another drunkard into the room already filling with a sickening odor. This one would not stop singing in spite of the orders of the warden, who seeing his trouble wasted, locked the door and departed. At daybreak, when it seemed to the boys that they had slept only a few minutes, the jailer reappeared and told them to get up.
“May we go home?” asked Simon.
“The idea! You imagine things are passed over like that? A person steals a van; then he returns calmly to his home! It is the Juvenile Court that will tell you what to do. Meanwhile, we’ll keep you here.”
“Do our parents know where we are?” asked Simon, despondently.
“Certainly. But they’re not in a hurry to see you again, I think!”
Towards the end of the morning Bob’s father arrived, an enormous cooper, with a coarse red face, who broke out in imprecations against his son, telling him he’d make him pay dearly for his folly. However, Bob was less downcast than Simon, who, seeing no one come, felt himself an outcast from his kin.
“The fellows in the hospital have the best of it,” cried Bob; “they are well cared for, well fed, and nobody reproaches them.”
“They are suffering, and must surely be as sick of it as we are,” returned Simon, stamping his cold feet. “How long must we stay here before we hear what will happen to us?”
=============================
A month had passed since Bob and Simon received permission to go home, after having endured a close interrogation. Useless for them to try to forget their disastrous adventure. The prospect of the trial which awaited them overshadowed them, filling their sleep with nightmares. On this cold February morning the hour of retribution had struck. With hanging heads, the two boys, led by a grim usher in an imposing cocked hat, entered the vast bare court room and joined Cyril on the prisoners’ bench. Their parents kept out of sight at the far end of the room.
Even a desert island seemed preferable to Bob, lost in this huge inhospitable place. He dared not raise his eyes to the impressive circle of gentlemen in black facing him. Simon threw a furtive glance at the accuser’s seat, where a little hunchback fidgeted uneasily, seeming as embarrassed as himself. Under a cynical mask Cyril tried to hide his apprehension, but in the oppressive silence, he could hear the rapid throbbing of his heart.
Presently the room filled, and the door was shut. The judge’s trenchant voice jarred the strung-up nerves of the culprits. After a brief preamble he made his official statement as follows: “Cyril Danton, ringleader of these young delinquents, is found guilty for the second time of the theft of a vehicle. On January first at seven a.m. he took possession of a minivan owned by Mr. Isidor Monett, florist, of Montval. Without a driving license, he took upon himself to transport his accomplices up to Grandmont. The accident, due to a silver thaw and the incapacity of the driver, took place on their return journey in the evening. The van is utterly unusable.
“Robert Round, accomplice of the first mentioned, is also guilty for the second time of theft. He it was - accompanied by Charles Brown - who took possession of the car keys after gaining admittance to the florist’s home under pretext of helping him carry his packages. Simon Conty, Patrick Demier, Charles and Andrew Brown, are guilty of complicity in the theft of the van before mentioned. The last three are still in the hospital.”
The judge stopped, then gave the word to Mr. Corney, the lawyer, a little sprightly man who spoke so fast that Bob could understand nothing. Then the cross-questioning commenced. Cyril, being the chief offender, was questioned first. He was so overwrought that he could scarcely frame an intelligent reply. When his turn came, Bob stammered, became confused, and jumbled his words together. Simon alone maintained enough coolness to reply clearly to questioning.
One after another, conducted by the usher, the witnesses came forward; the innkeeper, whose help Simon had asked, the police officer and Philip Berger. Fresh questions rained on the offenders, who could only confirm what had gone before. The judge rose and went into an adjoining room, followed by two wigged gentlemen. One heard only the scratching of a clerk’s pen. Bob risked a glance at the lawyers. Mechanically Simon searched his pockets; he felt chewing gum, but dared not take it out. Cyril studied the painting of “Justice” with its unrelenting face. A great sigh burst from Mr. Mollett’s breast.
The creak of the opening door made everyone start. The three gentlemen regained their seats. Very gravely the judge read the sentence -
“Considering the age of the delinquents, all under eighteen; and having learned certain family circumstances extenuating their culpability, the tribunal apply Article 137 of the Penal Code to this case.
Danton, Cyril; sentenced for theft to the penalty of three months in Remand Correctional School.
Round, Robert; to three months suspended prison sentence, and three months in Remand Correctional School.
Conty, Simon; Demier, Patrick; Brown, Charles and Andrew, to two years on probation.
As the owner had neglected to insure his van, the costs are assigned to Danton, one quarter; to Round, one quarter, to Conty, Demier, Brown Charles and Andrew, one eighth each.
Danton, Cyril is sentenced to a fine of $50.00 for breaking the law by driving without a license.”
A brief silence, then the judge’s voice spoke louder and more severely.
“Young people, to gratify your pleasure, you did not hesitate to steal another’s goods; you risked your comrades’ lives, you could even have their death on your consciences. This once we treat you with leniency on account of your youth and inexperience; but let this lesson prove salutary. Be assured that another such prank on your part will entail a much more severe punishment. Prove to us that we have done well to use this indulgence in your favor.”
The hearing ended, everyone rose to go. The three delinquents pushed hastily through the crowd towards the door. Bob’s father was waiting for him, a suitcase in his hand. He seized his son by the arm. “I am taking you there this evening,” said he. “It’s no use for you to try any tricks.”
Bob wanted to speak to Simon, but his father dragged him away. They disappeared without looking back.
Cyril’s guardian, a little weasel-faced man, approached him and muttered something between his pointed teeth. The boy’s expression hardened still more. Like an automaton he followed his guardian.
A vivacious woman of somewhat aggressive bearing, hustled Simon into a taxi, which went off immediately.
Mr. Mollett found himself alone on the pavement. “Patrick also!” he repeated softly. “Children still, and perhaps unfortunate. No it is cruel!...It will be said that Isidor Mollett...I must see them! What a sad business!”
Passers-by turned round to stare with amusement at the little man, lost in thought, talking to himself and gesturing with his bewildered gaze fixed on the closed door of the Magistrate’s Court.