morning I have no lessons and I am not supposed to go out. I asked papa if I might do some shopping, but there seemed to be no occasion for it, at least I was too nervous to think of any. Finally, I told him that I had a dreadful headache and must go for a walk.
Poor child! Harold unquestionably was sympathetic but he could think of nothing else to say.
We must hasten! The policeman told me to be in court at nine o'clock. We must find a taxi.
They walked towards Fourth Avenue and Harold hailed a passing cab.
But it isn't a cherry cab.
It's too late to be particular, Harold muttered as he helped her in.
I suppose so . . . but papa says . . .
Ascending to the court-room at the Jefferson Market Police Court, they passed, on the stairs, a motley crowd of bondsmen, witnesses, shyster lawyers, friends of prostitutes, and hangers-on. Court, they noted, on entering, had already opened. A frowzy female was telling the judge how a neighbour's child had stuck pins into her little girl. The little girl, according to the testimony of the defence, had begun the sticking. The judge, a slender, elderly man with a great beak like that of a parrot, on which was fastened a pince-nez, did not appear to be listening. He examined papers with one hand while, with the other, he ceaselessly tapped
