The justice of Gideon

The place of Justice in the little town of Manzanita was a low, square, cloth-and-papered room, bare save for the Judge’s unpainted pine desk and armchair; the two other chairs, wooden-seated and worn, that stood just in front of the desk, and were reserved at trials for the constable and his prisoner; the four long benches directly behind these; and the squat, round-barreled stove which, though it was midsummer in the little Northern California town, still held its place in the centre of the room, its four legs spraddled out as if it were determined to defy removal from its shallow sawdust box. There was but one spot of brightness in the whole dingy place. Back of the Judge’s desk, draped against the fly-specked wall in careful folds, gleamed the red, white and blue of the Flag.

The colours brought the Judge into sharp relief. The courtroom being deserted, his coat was off, and hung near by him on a nail under his black, slouch hat; and he was seated on the small of his back, his long legs crossed and stretched out into the unrailed prisoner’s dock, his elbows planted upon the arms of his chair, and his hands pressed against his temples, so that they shielded his eyes. About him were his books, calf-bound and heavy. They stood in front of him, to his right hand and to his left, in columns of six; in other columns they weighted the strip of matting under his feet, and flanked his chair at either side. One was open before him. It was set upon the middle button of his vest, and had for a rear support the front edge of the desk. He was deep in the study of it. Across its pages at intervals rolled a white cloud from his pipe-rolled like the smoke of his own silent battle for the Truth--and went floating upward to be dissolved and lost amid the dust-heavy cobwebs of the ceiling.

He lifted his eyes, presently; someone was approaching the front door. The rickety sidewalk leading up to the courtroom from the general merchandise store down the street acted as an unofficial herald to him; for one section of it, as unfixed as a raft, banged to the tread of all oncomers, and a couple of loose boards still closer at hand creaked and flapped when they were stepped upon. The footfall now nearing was light. The Judge laid down his pipe, rose hastily, straightening out six feet of stalwart length, and reached for his coat.

The next moment the round, ruffled top of a white parasol curtained the small square of glass in the door. Then the parasol folded, a slim hand turned the knob and a girl stood on the threshold--a bareheaded, brown-haired girl in a white muslin dress.

“Oh, Alicia,” said the Judge, giving a last settling jerk to his coat. A wave of colour swept up from the sunburned lower half of his face and reddened his forehead.

“I’d like to speak to you a minute, Gid,” said the girl timidly. “I’m sorry if I’m breaking in on your work.”

“You ain’t a-breakin’ in on my work,” he protested. “Not a bit of it.”

She closed the door behind her and crossed the floor quickly. She was slender, and the wide girdle of black satin that she wore emphasised her slenderness.

The Judge, smiling bashfully, bowed across his desk with mock ceremony. “Take the prisoner’s chair,” he said.

She sat down, but with no answering smile. Her manner was somewhat nervous and her grey eyes were full of concern.

He took his seat behind the desk and leaned toward her. His eyes were grey like her own, and set in a young face so grave, and so lined by thought and care--as well as by long-continued exposure to wind and sun--that, at first glance, he seemed much older than he was. “I don’t have my little talk with Mrs. Luce an’ Jim till ’leven o’clock,” he explained. “An’ so I’m--I’m glad you dropped in.”

Her cheeks grew pink all at once. “I see you been getting some new books.” She nodded toward the column on his right hand.

“Yas; four or five of these come this last week.”

“They cost, too, don’t they? And if you run for district attorney, that’ll take money.”

He was still leaning forward. And now his look suddenly became all eagerness. “Alicia, I got a secret! An’ I been just a-waitin’ t’ tell it to you. I been promised the nomination.”

“You have! Oh, Gid, I’m so glad!”

“Thank y’, Alicia. That’s the reason I been studyin’ harder’n ever lately. I’m savin’ up my money, too. I got five hunderd a’ready. These days I almost hate to put out a cent on books.”

“You’ve done enough for others,” she said earnestly. “It’s time you spent your money on yourself.”

“When I’m district attorney I’m a-goin’ to buy a piece of property up at the county seat an’ have a home of my own.” He paused, watching her wistfully. “An’ if things turn out as I look to see ’em,” he went on in a low voice, “I’m a-goin’ to marry. I’ll be thirty my next birthday. If I wait any longer I s’pose folks’ll begin t’ call me a’ ole bach.”

The colour in her cheeks deepened. “I think you ought to marry,” she agreed. But she looked down, and picked at the ruffles of her parasol.

“I’ve thought about it a good deal. So far, though--wal, you know how it’s been” (this very gently). “There was that boy.”

“Oh, Gid!” Now she lifted her face. Her eyes were swimming; her lips were trembling. “Gid,--it’s about Homer that I’ve come.”

He sat back, and was silent for a long moment, watching her keenly. “I see,” he said finally, his own face very grave. He spoke aloud and yet as if to himself. “Yas--I think I understand--how it is.” He drew a long breath.

“The town is talking about him, Gid,--talking awfully mean.”

Instantly he straightened in his chair and looked across at her, amazed and troubled. “About Homer? W’y, what’s bein’ said?”

“It started after Mr. Carpenter’s last trip up from San Francisco. And----”

“Carpenter, the fruit-buyer?”

“Yes. He handed over all the Manzanita shipping and paying to Homer, you know.”

“Homer’s Business College trainin’ come in handy that time,” said the Judge proudly.

“I hope he’ll never forget that he’s got you to thank for his education,” she went on. “You’ve been more than a brother to him--ever since he was in his baby-buggy and you were a little fellow. Mother says so. Just because his father was dead.”

“His maw has allus been sickly,” reminded the Judge. “An’ I ain’t missed the little I paid out for him. He’s a fine boy, that’s what he is. There ain’t a finer or a handsomer or a stylisher boy in town. An’ he’s smart. Didn’t them Business College fellers hand him a medal for fancy penmanship? So there’s a few people in this town that’s jealous of him. Wal, who cares?”

She rose and stepped forward to the desk. “Gid,” she said, “I hate to tell you. But I must. Oh, I knew you’d be the last person to hear anything!”

“What can man, woman or child find to say agin Homer Scott?” he asked huskily.

“Since Mr. Carpenter went Homer’s acted different. He hasn’t been over to our house lately, or to see his other friends. He goes to the Occidental Hotel of evenings--with Jim Luce and his crowd.”

“And----?” He was leaning forward once more.

“And folks say that--that he’s gambling.”

“Gamblin’.” He repeated it under his breath.

“After all you’ve done for him, he ought to think of what’ll please you--not what’ll hurt.”

He propped his head between his hands and stared at the desk. But presently he looked up at her again, confident and smiling. “Alicia,” he said, “if there was a law in Manzanita agin gossip, half the town would bust it so often they’d have to move, bag an’ baggage, an’ live in yonder.” He gave a sidewise nod of the head. The rear door of the courtroom was standing partly ajar. Through it could be seen several small barred openings--the windows of the neighbouring jail.

“Now you know, an’ I know, that Homer Scott don’t gamble,” he said.