“We’ll all go along,” said Ned, firmly. “Maybe the judge will be kind to him.”
“But they’ve got a bad law in this town,” said the other officer, shaking his head.
“What kind of a law?” asked Ned, quickly.
“In regard to vagrants1. It’s three months on the stone pile, or with ball and chain. No getting out of it, unless the prisoner has money enough to buy a ticket that will take him fifty miles away, on one road or the other.”
“Why! that is barbarous!” exclaimed Dorothy.
“Oh! the judge of the court must have some power,” cried Dorothy. “Do let me talk to him.”
The magistrate3’s court was not far distant. Ned felt rather peculiar4 as he climbed the stairs in company with the prisoner and officers, holding Dorothy’s hand in the crook5 of his arm. There were some pretty rough looking characters on the stairs and hanging about the door of the magistrate’s court. But Ned and Dorothy pushed on in the wake of the railroad police and their prisoner.
Dorothy sympathized so deeply with the old man who had escaped from the discipline and routine of the Soldiers’ Home, that she paid little attention to her surroundings.
The courtroom was long, and ugly, and bare. The man sitting at the high desk at the end of the room, Dorothy knew, must be the magistrate. He was a young, smoothly6 shaven man, dressed very fashionably, and with a flower in his buttonhole. That flower was the single bright spot in all the somber7 place.
The railroad policeman looked knowingly at Dorothy, and she went forward with Ned. They were both allowed inside the railing. One of the officers spoke8 in a low tone to the magistrate, and the latter glanced interestedly at Dorothy.
Although Dorothy Dale had been traveling night and day for some time, she was too attractive a girl to lose all her bonny appearance under any circumstances.
The magistrate listened to the railroad detective. Then he called the poor old man to the bar.
“What is your name?” asked the magistrate.
“John Dempsey, your honor.”
“Without a home in this county, and no visible means of support, the officer says—is that right?”
“I—I—Yes, your honor.”
“And found riding on the train without a ticket?”
“I was, your honor.”
“Why? Why did you do it?”
“Sure, your honor, they treat me well enough at the Home; but I want to get out in the open. It’s stifled9 I am become by four walls.”
“But that does not explain away the fact that you stole a ride upon the complainant’s train?” said the magistrate, sternly.
Dorothy looked up at him pleadingly. John Dempsey was silent; he could not plead his own cause in speech as eloquent10 as Dorothy’s eyes pleaded for him! Judge Abbott beckoned11 the young girl to step up beside him.
“I understand you wish to speak in the prisoner’s behalf?” said the magistrate.
“Oh, Judge! ought he to be a prisoner with that button on his coat?” cried Dorothy Dale, impulsively12. “He is an old Veteran—a man who fought for our country. I am sure Mr. Dempsey is a good man. Don’t punish him, Judge!”
“But, my dear young lady, how can I help it? He has committed a misdemeanor. He must either be sent to jail, or he must produce his fare out of town—and fifty miles out of town, at that!”
“Oh, sir! can’t somebody else pay his fare?” asked Dorothy, anxiously.
“Surely, Miss. Are you prepared to do so?”
“No, sir, not now. But I will take him away on the one o’clock train—I will indeed.”
“Very well. Sentence suspended. Paroled in your care,” added the judge to one of the railroad officers. “You have him at the station in season for the train, and the young lady will be responsible for his fare.”
Dorothy thanked him, but went eagerly to the prisoner.
“Where do you want to go, sir?” she asked.
“I—I—Well, Miss, it don’t so much matter as long as I git to go. I want to reach the hills.”
“You shall go with us as far as Dugonne, at least,” said Dorothy, impulsively. “I’m sure we can find something for him to do at the Hardin place, Ned?” she added, turning to her cousin.
Ned was more than a little startled by this. Things were moving rather too fast for him. But he managed to say:
“You—you’ll have to settle that with the mater, Dot.” But then he whispered: “What can an old fellow like him do on a ranch13?”
“That’s all right,” Dorothy returned. “We’ll make him think he can do something.”
Dorothy shook hands with the judge, and with the railroad officers, and with John Dempsey. She scattered16 the sunshine of her smiles all about the dingy17 court room, and things seemed to brighten up for everybody.
Then she hurried with Ned to the hotel where Aunt Winnie was waiting.
“My dear girl!” said that good lady. “How you have worried me. And Tavia’s account of your adventures have not served to relieve our anxiety—much. Going to court with a tramp——”
“Not a tramp, Auntie!” interposed Dorothy Dale. “He is one of father’s old comrades. He is a Veteran.”
“I hope so. I hope you have not been imposed upon. But it will cost money——”
“You told me,” said Dorothy, earnestly, “that when we got to the Hardin place you’d buy a pony18 for my very own use. Take that money and pay John Dempsey’s fare. I don’t need a pony.”
Aunt Winnie kissed her. “My dear girl! I am afraid your sympathy will often lead you astray,” she said. “But you will stray in kindly106 paths. I do not believe there will be much serious harm for you that way.”
“What do you think of me?” broke in Tavia. “I am always going astray, too. At least, so they all tell me.”
“Your heart is all right, my dear Octavia,” said Mrs. White, smiling, “but it is your head that leads you astray,” she added, not unkindly.
They all went to the railroad station in good season, and there found the policeman and old John Dempsey waiting for them. The good-natured officer had improved the old man’s appearance considerably20 by having his clothing brushed and finding him the means for washing. Dempsey had likewise been fed.
He was a brown-faced, blue-eyed man of nearly seventy. The blue eyes had, perhaps, a wandering look, and the muscles about the old man’s mouth had weakened, but otherwise he was sturdy looking.
“’Tis a pity, Ma’am,” he said, to the lady, “that you do be troubled by such as me. But I’m fair desp’rit! I’d take charity from anybody to git back into the open once more.
“They’ve hived me up in four walls till it’s fair mad they’ve made me. I might strike it rich yet, out in the hills, an’ pay ye for——”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” said Mrs. White, kindly19. “I am sure we can find something for you to do out of doors on our big place that will make you self-supporting.”
“God bless ye for saying that, Ma’am,” said John Dempsey, gratefully, and followed on behind the party to the train, where the policeman bade them good-bye.
The boys took charge of John Dempsey and saw him comfortably seated in the day coach. It was a long run to Dugonne, where the party arrived at nine o’clock that evening.
Dorothy was so anxiously looking forward to the end of the train journey that she had quite forgotten some of the circumstances connected with this sudden trip. There, on the lighted platform, as the train rolled in, appeared the stocky, black mustached man for whom she and Tavia had taken such a dislike.
“He got here ahead of us.”
“He had no intention of letting Aunt Winnie get here first,” declared Dorothy. “Now, Tavia, we must watch that man; he means Aunt Winnie no good, I’m sure.”
Philo Marsh rushed forward to greet Mrs. White, with both hands extended, when the party from the East left the train.
“I certainly made good connections,” he said, with enthusiasm, insisting upon shaking hands with the two boys as well as the lady herself. The girls kept away from him, and it was evident that the man did not recognize them, but he swept off his hat and bowed deeply to Dorothy and Tavia, when Mrs. White presented them as “my niece, and her friend.”
“I’ve the best suite23 in the best hotel in Dugonne saved for you,” Philo Marsh declared. “I’ve ordered supper for you, too. They’ll serve it just as soon as you arrive, in your sitting room. Oh, we can do things in good style out yere if we put our minds to it,” and the man laughed heartily24.
“And in the morning I’ll come and talk with you, Mrs. White. If you want to see some of the other men interested in this water-right business, I’ll bring them.”
“Oh, mercy, sir!” cried Aunt Winnie. “Let us get rested and look about a little before we rush into business. But I will let you call to-morrow afternoon, Mr. Marsh.”
With this, Philo Marsh had to be content. The party of tourists were driven away in a depot25 wagon26 for the Commonwealth27 Hotel.
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1
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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