"Yer Honor!" the policeman broke in. "It's three times lately I've found
him sleepin' in doorways after midnight. Him and the gang is a bad lot,
yer Honor, a scrappin' an' hoppin' freights an' swipin' junk, an' one
thing an' another."
"I never swiped no junk," Dan said hopelessly, "I never swiped nothink
in my life."
"Is there no definite charge against this boy?"
"Well, sir," said Mason, "he is always a-climbin' up the steeple of the
cathedral."
Dan, sullen, frightened, and utterly unable to defend himself, looked
from the officer to the janitor with the wide, distrustful eyes of a
cornered coyote.
Suddenly a voice spoke out in his behalf, a shrill, protesting,
passionate voice.
"He ain't no worser nor nobody else! Ast Mammy, ast Uncle Jed! He's got
to sleep somewheres when his maw fergits to come home! Ever'body goes an'
picks on Danny 'cause he ain't got nobody to take up fer him. 'T ain't
fair!" Nance ended her tirade in a burst of tears.
"There, there," said the judge, "it's going to be fair this time. You
stop crying now and tell me your name?"
"Nance Molloy," she gulped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
"How old are you?"
"'Leven, goin' on twelve."
"Well, take that gum out of your mouth and stop crying."
He consulted his papers and then looked at her over his glasses.
"Nancy," he said, "are you in the habit of slipping into the cathedral
when the janitor is not around?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
"Lookin' at the pretties, an' seein' if there's any nickels under
the seats.
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