The Under Dog | Page 7

been here?"
"Three months next Tuesday."
"That baby only two weeks old when they arrested you?" My blood ran hot and cold, and my collar seemed five sizes too small, but I still held on to myself.
"Yes." The answer was given in the same monotonous, listless voice--not a trace of indignation over the outrage. Women with suckling babies had no rights that anybody was bound to respect--not up in Pineyville; certainly not the gentlemen with brass shields under the lapels of their coats and Uncle Sam's commissions in their pockets. It was the law of the land--why find fault with it?
I leaned closer so that I could touch her hand if need be.
"What's your name?"
"Samanthy North."
"What's your husband's name?"
"His name's North." There was a trace of surprise now in the general monotone Then she added, as if to leave no doubt in my mind, "Leslie North."
"Where is he?" I determined now to round up every fact.
"He's home. We've got another child, and he's takin' care of it till I git back. He'd be to the railroad for me if he knowed I was coming; but I couldn't tell him when to start 'cause I didn't know how long they'd keep me."
"Is your home near the railroad?"
"No, it's thirty-six miles furder."
"How will you get from the railroad?"
"Ain't no way 'cept walkin'."
I had it now, the whole damnable, pitiful story, every fact clear-cut to the bone. I could see it all: the look of terror when the deputy woke her from her sleep and laid his hand upon her; the parting with the other child; the fright of the helpless husband; the midnight ride, she hardly able to stand, the pitiful scrap of her own flesh and blood tight in her arms; the procession to the jail, the men in front chained together, she bringing up the rear, walking beside the last guard; the first horrible night in jail, the walls falling upon her, the darkness overwhelming her, the puny infant resting on her breast; the staring, brutal faces when the dawn came, followed by the coarse jest. No wonder that she hung limp and hopeless to the bars of her cage, all the spring and buoyancy, all the youth and lightness, crushed out of her.
I put my hand through the bars and laid it on her wrist.
"No, you won't walk; not if I can help it." This outburst got past the lump slowly, one word at a time, each syllable exploding hot like balls from a Roman candle. "You get your things together quick as you can, and wait here until I come back," and I turned abruptly and motioned to the turnkey to open the gate.
In the office of the Chief of Police outside I found Marny talking to Sergeant Cram. He was waiting until I finished. It was all an old story with Marny--every month a new batch came to Covington jail.
"What about that girl, Sergeant--the one with the baby?" I demanded, in a tone that made them both turn quickly.
"Oh, she's all right. She told the Judge a straight story this morning, and he let her go on 'spended sentence. They tried to make her plead 'Not guilty,' but she wouldn't lie about it, she said. She can go when she gets ready. What are you drivin' at? Are you goin' to put up for her?"--and a curious look overspread his face.
"I'm going to get her a ticket and give her some money to get home. Locking up a seventeen-year-old girl, two hundred miles from home, in a den like that, with a baby two weeks old, may be justice, but I call it brutality! Our Government can pay its expenses without that kind of revenue." The whole bundle of Roman candles was popping now. Inconsequent, wholly illogical, utterly indefensible explosions. But only my heart was working.
The Sergeant looked at Marny, relaxed the scowl about his eyebrows, and smiled; such "softies" seemed rare to him.
"Well, if you're stuck on her--and I'm damned if I don't believe you are--let me give you a piece of advice. Don't give her no money till she gets on the train, and whatever you do, don't leave her here over night. There's a gang around here"--and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door--"that might--" and he winked knowingly.
"You don't mean--" A cold chill suddenly developed near the roots of my hair and trickled to my spine.
"Well, she's too good-lookin' to be wanderin' round huntin' for a boardin'-house. You see her on the train, that's all. Starts at eight to-night. That's the one they all go by--those who git out and can raise the money. She ought to leave now, 'cordin' to the regulations, but as long as you're a friend of Mr. Marny's I'll keep her here in the office till I