Scrub women came at dawn, to be sure, and smeared its floors with sour
mops, and occasionally a janitor brushed the cobwebs off the ceiling, but
the grime was more than surface deep, and every nook and cranny held the
foul odor of the unwashed, unkempt current of humanity that for so many
years had flowed through it. Ghosts of dead and gone criminals seemed to
hover over the place, drawn back through curiosity, to relive their own
sorry experiences in the cases of the young offenders waiting before the
bar of justice.
On the bench at the rear of the room the delegation from Calvary Alley
had been waiting for over an hour. Mrs. Snawdor, despite her forebodings,
had achieved a costume worthy of the occasion, but Uncle Jed and Dan had
made no pretense at a toilet. As for Nance, she had washed her face as
far east and west as her ears and as far south as her chin; but the
regions beyond were unreclaimed. The shoe-string on her hair had been
replaced by a magenta ribbon, but the thick braids had not been
disturbed. Now that she had got over her fright, she was rather enjoying
the novelty and excitement of the affair. She had broken the law and
enjoyed breaking it, and the cop had pinched her. It was a game between
her and the cop, and the cop had won. She saw no reason whatever for
Uncle Jed and Dan to look so solemn.
By and by a woman in spectacles took her into a small room across the
hall, and told her to sit on the other side of the table and not to
shuffle her feet.
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