The Runaway | Page 9

met a watchman, and made inquiries, and told him of the
robbery.
"And this boy came with the man last night, did he?" inquired the
watchman.
"He did," said the woman.
"Do you know the boy?"
"I never saw him before."
"Well, I guess he knows where he is, or where he can be found
to-morrow."
Rodney protested that he knew nothing about him, that his own hat,
collar, and handkerchief had been stolen, and that he had had nothing to
do with the robbery. He even told him where he had met with Bill, and
how he came to be in his company.
"All very fine, my lad," said the watchman; "but you must go with me.
This must be examined into to-morrow."
And he took Rodney by the arm, and led him to the watch-house.
CHAPTER VII.
THE WATCH-HOUSE.
For poor Rodney there was no more sleep that night, even had they
placed him on a bed of roses. But they locked him up in a little square
room, with an iron-barred window, into which a dim light struggled

from a lamp hung outside in the entry, showing a wooden bench,
fastened against the wall. There were four men in the room.
One, whose clothes looked fine and fashionable, but all covered with
dirt, lay on the floor. A hat, that seemed new, but crushed out of all
shape, was under his head for a pillow. His face was bruised and
bloody. He was entirely stupefied, and Rodney saw at a glance that he
was intoxicated.
On the bench, stretched out at full length, was a short, stout negro, fast
asleep. On another part of the bench lay a white man, who seemed
about fifty years old, with a sneering, malicious face, and wrapped up
in a shaggy black coat. The remaining occupant of the cell sat in one
corner, with his head down on his knees, and his hat slouched over his
face.
Rodney stood for a few moments in the middle of the cell, and, in
sickening dismay, looked round him. Here he was with felons and
rioters, locked up in a dungeon! True, he had committed no crime
against the law; but yet he felt that he deserved it all; and the hot tears
rolled from his eyes as he thought of his mother and his home.
Hearing his sobs, the man in the corner raised his head, looked at him
for a moment, and said:
"Why, you blubbering boy, what have you been about? Are you the pal
of these cracksmen, or have you been on a lay on your own hook?"
Rodney did not know what he meant, and he said so.
"I mean," said the man, in the same low, thieves' jargon, "have you
been helping these fellows crack a crib?"
"Doing what?" said Rodney.
"Breaking into a house, you dumb-head."
[Illustration]

The boy shuddered at the thought of being taken for an accomplice of
house-breakers; and told him he knew nothing about them. He had read
that boys are sometimes employed by house-breakers to climb in
through windows or broken pannels, to open the door on the inside; and
now he was thought to be such a one himself.
It was a dismal night for him.
Early in the morning the prisoners were all taken before a magistrate.
The drunkard, who claimed to be a gentleman, and who had been taken
to the watch-house for assaulting the barkeeper of a tavern, was fined
five dollars, and dismissed.
The negro and the old white man had been caught in the attempt to
break into a house, and were sent to prison, to await their trial for
burglary; and the other white man was also sent to prison, until he
could be tried, for stealing a pocket-book in an auction store.
Rodney was then called forward. The watchman told how and why he
had taken him; and the boy was asked to give an account of himself. He
told his story truthfully and tearfully, while the magistrate looked
coldly at him.
"A very good story," said the magistrate; "it seems to be well studied. I
suspect you are an artful fellow, notwithstanding your innocent face. I
shall bind you over for trial, my lad. I think such boys as you should be
stopped in time; and a few years in some penitentiary would do you
good."
What could Rodney say? What could he do? He was among strangers.
He could send for no one to testify of his good character, or to become
bail for him. And, if his friends had been near, he felt that he had rather
die than that they should know of his disgrace.
The magistrate gave an officer a paper--a commitment--and told him to
take the boy to the Arch-street