Chapter XI · IN COURT.

It was not until two hours after the Camera Chap’s arrest that his friend, Fred Carroll, learned of it.

The proprietor of the Bulletin, returning to his office after his tryst with Melba Gale, was just seating himself at his desk when the telephone claimed his attention. It was the voice of Parsons, his police reporter, which came to him over the wire.

“Is that you, Mr. Carroll?” said the reporter. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past two hours. They’ve arrested your friend, Mr. Hawley. They’re just taking him to court now.”

“The deuce you say!” exclaimed the proprietor of the Bulletin. “What have they got him for?”

“Breaking the new anticamera law. I’m afraid he’s in bad, too, sir. Looks as if they’ve got him dead to rights. He took a photograph on the street outside the city hall, and they caught him at it. Of course, Hodgins will make the most of this opportunity to get square.”

“Suffering Cæsar!” muttered Carroll, a troubled look on his face. “What magistrate are they taking him before, Parsons?”

“Judge Wall, sir.”

“Wall!” The troubled look on Carroll’s face deepened. “He’s the biggest grouch on the bench, and a personal friend of Hodgins. Poor old Hawley! I’m afraid they’ll give him the limit. All right, Parsons, I’ll be right over. We must see what we can do.”

As he hurried to court, Carroll said to himself, with a frown: “The reckless chump! What the dickens did he want with that picture, when he knew that telegram was a fake? I suppose that was the big laugh he promised me. He made up his mind that he’d get that snapshot, anyway, just to show those fellows how little he was afraid of them. Unfortunately, though, it looks as if they’ve turned the laugh on him. I wish I’d guessed what he was going to do, so that I could have persuaded him not to take such a desperate chance.”

Although Carroll lost no time in getting to the courtroom, the Camera Chap was already being arraigned when he arrived there. Chief Hodgins was in such a fever of impatience to wreak his vengeance upon that young man that he had prevailed upon his honor to try the case ahead of several other less important cases which, according to the regular order, should have preceded it.

News of Hawley’s arrest evidently had traveled fast, for Carroll recognized in the courtroom several men whose presence there, he felt sure, was prompted solely by a desire to see the Camera Chap sentenced to six months in the county jail.

Prominent among these was old Delancey Gale, who stood beside his son, within the railed inclosure in front of the magistrate’s desk—a privilege accorded to representatives of the press—stroking his white, mutton-chop whiskers and shaking his head deprecatingly every time his gaze rested upon the prisoner’s smiling countenance, as though such depravity as he saw there was almost past his comprehension.

Most of the other men in the spectators’ benches were politicians—members of the ring against which the Bulletin was waging war. They had no grievance against Hawley personally, but they regarded his prosecution as a blow at Carroll and his newspaper, and therefore they had come there with thumbs down.

As the proprietor of the Bulletin entered the courtroom, he was greeted by vindictive scowls from this group. One had only to glance at their faces to realize how intensely bitter was their feeling toward this young New Yorker who had done—and was still doing—his level best to brand them as the grafters they were.

But their scowls were quickly succeeded by friendly smiles as a burly, rawboned man of middle age, whose countenance was set in grim lines, entered the courtroom close on the heels of Carroll, stepped pompously up to the bench, and took a seat beside the magistrate without waiting for an invitation to do so.

The newcomer was the Honorable Martin Henkle, mayor of Oldham, and the most powerful political boss that town had ever known.

Mayor Henkle was not in the habit of gracing the police court with his presence; but so great was his interest in this case that he had adjourned an important hearing at the city hall in order to attend the trial.

The mayor’s visit was a source of great gratification to Chief Hodgins. Since the Bulletin’s publication of those painful snapshots showing that corpulent official in a somnolent pose, there had been a marked coolness between the mayor and the head of the police department.

While the former had not carried out his threat to remove the latter from office, he had let it be plainly seen that Hodgins was in great disfavor at the city hall. Consequently the police chief was glad now to have the mayor present to witness his triumph over the Camera Chap. He felt confident that this arrest would go a long way toward restoring him to favor.

It did not take Chief Hodgins long to present his evidence against Hawley.

With a note of pride in his voice, he told the court how by his vigilance and alertness he had been successful in catching the defendant “red-handed,” in the act of taking a photograph on a public highway of Oldham.

“And I hope, your honor,” the chief concluded, “that you’ll see fit to make an example of the rascal; for if ever there was a desperate character, he’s one. Just see how he stands there grinnin’ now—right in your honor’s face.”

His honor, who was a dyspeptic-looking little man with a peppery temper, glared at the prisoner, and inwardly resolved that he would “give him something to grin about” in a little while.

Gale and the six detectives gave testimony corroborating that of the chief of police regarding the taking of the photograph.

Everybody in the courtroom, including Fred Carroll, thought that the case against the Camera Chap was a strong one, and wondered why the latter didn’t manifest more concern as to the outcome.

Hawley’s face continued to wear a cheerful smile as he listened to the evidence, and this smile expanded every time his gaze rested on the camera reposing on the magistrate’s desk, which Chief Hodgins had offered as an exhibit.

“You say that a photograph was taken,” the magistrate suddenly remarked. “Have you the picture, chief?”

“I have the negative, your honor,” Hodgins replied promptly.

As he spoke, he glanced swiftly at the Camera Chap, whose face had suddenly lost its smile, and now wore an expression of mingled indignation and amazement.

“In order to make the evidence as complete as possible, your honor,” the chief of police went on, “I took the roll of film from this fellow’s camera, in the presence of witnesses, and had it developed. The result was this picture of the city hall, which I now offer in evidence.”

As Hodgins handed the negative to the magistrate, Hawley’s gaze traveled from the incriminating strip of gelatin to the face of the younger Gale.

On that countenance he saw an expression which fully enlightened him as to who was responsible for this piece of manufactured evidence—an expression half triumphant, half anxious.

“What a chump I was not to have foreseen that he’d do that,” he mused ruefully. “I guess this isn’t going to be such a ripping good joke, after all. It looks very much now as if I’m going to be engaged for the next six months in the unprofitable pastime of making large stones into little ones.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

ELEPHANT OFFENDERS IN THE ARMY.

In India, elephants are used for many purposes, but principally for carrying heavy loads from one part of the country to another. The Indian government employ a number of them, especially for their artillery.

These elephants are very particular about their rights. For instance, when formed up on parade, the elephant who has served longest takes the right of the rank, the others forming up in succession, according to their seniority, just like soldiers. Sometimes, either by accident or design, an elephant will take up a position to which he has no claim, when there is at once a great commotion, his comrades insisting upon his retiring to his proper place.

With such intelligent animals, it is therefore little to be wondered at that punishments for grave offenses are generally preceded by a court-martial in precisely the same manner as with soldiers.

One such scene of trial and punishment of an elephant guilty of murder is thus described by an eye witness, a military officer:

“The prisoner, with eyes filled with tears, was marched in front of us, between two other elephants. Along with them came all the witnesses. The president, Major C——, read the charge: ‘Elephant Abdul is charged with causing the death of Syce Ramboucles by catching him by the legs with his trunk and beating his brains out against the wall of the grain hut.’

“The first witness called deposed that he was in the lines at twelve o’clock, seeing the elephants fed. When the trumpeter sounded ‘feed,’ he saw Syce Ramboucles run with a bag of grain toward Elephant Abdul. At this time all the other elephants were fed, consequently Syce Ramboucles was late in feeding Elephant Abdul. The witness ordered the syce to hurry, but the latter did not seem to move any quicker. As soon as he approached, Elephant Abdul seized him by the legs and dashed his head against the little grain hut. Eight syces gave similar statements.

“When they had finished, the president, who had kept his head down the whole time, with the elephant’s defaulter sheet in front of him, suddenly looked up and glared at the prisoner. Seeing the elephant’s eyes swimming in tears, he said:

“‘It’s no use; that game won’t do. I am quite accustomed to see tears, and never take any notice of them. I see by this defaulter book that you have been guilty of no fewer than sixteen crimes of injuring people, and I have not the slightest compassion for you.’

“The members of the court-martial all agreed with him, and, after a short adjournment, found Abdul guilty, and sentenced him to fifty lashes and two years’ imprisonment.”

A few days later the first part of the sentence was carried out.

The whole battery was drawn up in a square, fourteen elephants forming one side and the noncommissioned officers and men the other three sides. In the center were two huge elephants, the prisoner Abdul, and the senior elephant, to whom the task of inflicting punishment always falls. Besides these two elephants, all the officers of the battery, the provosts, the brigade major, and the doctor, were in the center, and elephants numbers two and three stood on either flank, in case the prisoner might try to escape. Four great iron pegs were driven into the ground, to each of which one of the prisoner’s legs was chained. The senior elephant, Lalla No. 1, stood by, with a huge cable chain fastened around her trunk, waiting further orders.

When all was pronounced ready, the doctor, who stood with a watch in his hand, gave the signal to begin. Lalla raised her trunk in the air, gave it two turns, and down came the cable with terrific force on Abdul’s back. A loud thud was heard, followed by an unearthly roar from the unfortunate Abdul.

Again the doctor gave the signal, and down came the cable with terrific force, causing more roaring. Again and again it came down, until the full number of lashes were given, after which the prisoner was marched back to his quarters, trembling from head to foot, and having a few lumps on his back as the result of the lashing. The parade was then dismissed, and things went on as usual.

CONTINUED HIS EXPERIMENTS.

Among the adventures which befell a young engineer a short time back, was the perilous one of falling down the shaft of a mine. The shaft was not in use during the winter, but as it was essential to have it in order before spring, the young engineer determined to examine it.

There were no ladders to this particular shaft, and he elected to be lowered by the windlass. It was necessary, therefore, to hold on tightly to the rope, keeping one foot in a loop at the end. He settled himself firmly and swung off, the rope in his right hand and a candle in his left.

The shaft was about three hundred feet deep, and he was halfway down when he leaned forward to examine the wall of the shaft, and as he did so his foot shot out from the noose. It was coated with ice. The candle was jerked out of his left hand, while his right slipped down the icy rope like lightning, and closed on it with a death grip.

Then he felt himself swinging by one hand to the end of the rope and instinctively reached up to the loop with the other, only to find it a smooth coat of ice which gave scarcely any hold. He could never cling there long enough to be hauled back to the mouth of the shaft, even if he should succeed in making the men hear his cry for help.

The shaft was pitch dark, and it was therefore impossible to judge his rate of descent, as he hung—literally between life and death—with every faculty strained to the one act of clinging to the rope.

His hands were numb with cold and little by little he felt them slipping. Another moment and he went.

But not far, for when he let go he was not three feet from the bottom of the shaft. All the same he felt decidedly shaky as he groped about for his lost candle, which he found, and then coolly completed the exploration for which he had descended.

DRINK OR TEMPERANCE?

A temperance orator was describing to his audience how his own life had been influenced by total abstinence.

“You know,” said he, “that I am chief of my department. Three years ago there were two men in our office who held positions superior to mine. One was dismissed through drunkenness; the other was led into crime, and is now serving a long term of imprisonment, and all through the influence of strong drink. Now, what I ask,” he cried, growing eloquent, “what has raised me to my present high position?”

“Drink!” was the vociferous but unexpected reply, which he received from a number of the audience.

HE WANTED TO KNOW.

His five-year-old boy was perched on his knee, and the fond father gazed at him with eyes that beamed with paternal pride.

“Papa”—pointing out of the window—“what are those men doing over there?”

“Building a house, my son.”

“Why?”

“Because they are paid to do it.”

“Who pays them for doing it?”

“The man who is putting the house up.”

“What does he pay ’em for?”

“For building the house.”

“Why?”

“Because—well, because they would not build the house if he did not pay them.”

“What does the man want the house for?”

The paternal smile became rigid.

“To live in.”

“Hasn’t he got a house to live in?”

“Oh, yes!”

“What does he want another one for?”

“Oh, for other people to live in.”

“What other people?”

“Oh, men and women and little boys and girls.”

“Why do they want to live in the house?”

“Well, they must live somewhere.”

“Who?”

“The people.”

“What people?”

“Any people.”

“Why?”

At this juncture the innocent, prattling child saw a firm hand descend, and hastily retreated in time to prevent a collision.