“JARVIS.”

Having got this off his mind and into the mailbox, Jarvis went for his nightly prowl.  His steps turned toward the crowded East Side district, where a new interest was beginning to attract him.  Until now “men” were his only concern.  These hot nights, as he tramped along, discouraged with his own futility, he was beginning to discover “Man.”

It seemed to him that all the children in the world were playing in these crowded streets.  He had never turned his attention to children before.  And he began to look at the shrewd, old faces, even to talk to a group here and there.  They made him think of monkeys, clever, nervous little beasts.

He skirted several mothers’ meetings conducted on the sidewalk.  He even went into a saloon to have a look at the men, but the odour of stale beer and hot bodies was insufferable and drove him out.  As he sauntered along, he passed an unlighted business building.  Out of the shadow a girl stole, and fell in step beside him.

“Hello, kid!” she began, her hand tucked under his arm.  Before she could complete her sentence, a policeman was upon them.  He laid hold of the girl roughly.

“Now I got you!  I told you to keep off’n this block,” he growled.

“What’s the matter with you?  What do you want?” Jarvis demanded.

“I want her to come along with me.  That’s what I want.”

“She hasn’t done anything.”

“You bet she hasn’t.  I didn’t give her time.”

“Let go of her!  What charge are you taking her on?”

“Don’t get fresh, young guy.  The charge is s’licitin’.”

“That’s a lie!  She’s a friend of mine, and she merely said, ’Good evening.’”

The copper laughed derisively, and the girl turned a cynical young-old face to Jarvis.

“Much obliged, kid, but it ain’t no use.  He’s got me spotted.”

“If you arrest her, you must arrest me.”

“I got nottin’ on you.”

“Yes, you have.  I said ‘Good evening’ to her, just what she said to me.”

“Get the hell out of here, and don’t give me none of your lip, or I’ll run you in.  Come along!” the policeman ordered, and he and the girl started on toward Jefferson Market.  Jarvis marched beside them.  When they turned in at the door where prisoners are entered, the policeman again ordered Jarvis off.

“Go round in front if you’re crazy to be in on this,” he said.

Jarvis hurried round to the front door and went in.  The courtroom was packed.  He had trouble in finding a seat, but he finally got into the front row, just behind the rail that divides the dock from the spectators.  One half of the room was full of swine—­fat, blowse-necked Jewish men, lawyers, cadets, owners of houses—­all the low breeds who fatten off the degradation of women.  Their business was to pay the fines or go bail.

The other half of the room, to Jarvis’s horror, was full of young boys and girls, some almost children, there out of curiosity.  A goodly number of street walkers sat at the back.  It was their habit to come into court to see what judge was sitting.  If it was one who levied strict fines, or was prone to send girls up to Bedford, they spent the evening there, instead of on the streets.