"Now suppose you tell me
what the following words mean. Charity?"
"Is it a organization?" asked Nance doubtfully.
"Justice?"
"I dunno that one."
"Do you know what God is?"
Nance felt that she was doing badly. If her freedom depended on her
passing this test, she knew the prison bars must be already closing on
her. She no more knew what God is than you or I know, but the spectacled
lady must be answered at any cost.
"God," she said laboriously, "God is what made us, and a cuss word."
Many more questions followed before she was sent back to her place
between Uncle Jed and Mrs. Snawdor, and Dan was led away in turn to
receive his test.
Meanwhile Uncle Jed was getting restless. Again and again he consulted
his large nickel-plated watch.
"I ought to be getting to bed," he complained. "I won't get more 'n four
hours' sleep as it is."
"Here comes the Clarke boy!" exclaimed Nance, and all eyes were turned in
the direction of the door.
The group that presented itself at the entrance was in sharp contrast to
its surroundings. Mac Clarke, arrayed in immaculate white, was flanked on
one side by his distinguished-looking father and on the other by his
father's distinguished-looking lawyer. The only evidence that the
aristocratic youth had ever come into contact with the riffraff of
Calvary Alley was the small patch of court-plaster above his right eye.
"Tell the judge we are here," said Mr. Clarke briskly to his lawyer. "Ask
him to get through with us as soon as possible.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49