He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he had no word from his home.  He paid one of his fifteen cents for a postal card, and his companion wrote a note to the family, telling them where he was and when he would be tried.  There came no answer to it, however, and at last, the day before New Year’s, Jurgis bade good-by to Jack Duane.  The latter gave him his address, or rather the address of his mistress, and made Jurgis promise to look him up.  “Maybe I could help you out of a hole some day,” he said, and added that he was sorry to have him go.  Jurgis rode in the patrol wagon back to Justice Callahan’s court for trial.

One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was Teta Elzbieta and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated far in the rear.  His heart began to pound, but he did not dare to try to signal to them, and neither did Elzbieta.  He took his seat in the prisoners’ pen and sat gazing at them in helpless agony.  He saw that Ona was not with them, and was full of foreboding as to what that might mean.  He spent half an hour brooding over this—­and then suddenly he straightened up and the blood rushed into his face.  A man had come in—­Jurgis could not see his features for the bandages that swathed him, but he knew the burly figure.  It was Connor!  A trembling seized him, and his limbs bent as if for a spring.  Then suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, and heard a voice behind him:  “Sit down, you son of a—!”

He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy.  The fellow was still alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet it was pleasant to see him, all in penitential plasters.  He and the company lawyer, who was with him, came and took seats within the judge’s railing; and a minute later the clerk called Jurgis’ name, and the policeman jerked him to his feet and led him before the bar, gripping him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring upon the boss.

Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath, and told his story.  The wife of the prisoner had been employed in a department near him, and had been discharged for impudence to him.  Half an hour later he had been violently attacked, knocked down, and almost choked to death.  He had brought witnesses—­

“They will probably not be necessary,” observed the judge and he turned to Jurgis.  “You admit attacking the plaintiff?” he asked.

“Him?” inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss.

“Yes,” said the judge.  “I hit him, sir,” said Jurgis.

“Say ‘your Honor,’” said the officer, pinching his arm hard.

“Your Honor,” said Jurgis, obediently.

“You tried to choke him?”

“Yes, sir, your Honor.”

“Ever been arrested before?”

“No, sir, your Honor.”

“What have you to say for yourself?”