JACK. [Leaning from his seat.] Dad! that's what you said to me!
BARTHWICK. TSSt!
[There is a silence, while the MAGISTRATE consults his CLERK;
JONES leans forward waiting.]
MAGISTRATE. This is your first offence, and I am going to give you
a light sentence. [Speaking sharply, but without expression.] One
month with hard labour.
[He bends, and parleys with his CLERK. The BALD CONSTABLE and
another help JONES from the dock.]
JONES. [Stopping and twisting round.] Call this justice? What
about 'im? 'E got drunk! 'E took the purse--'e took the purse but
[in a muffled shout] it's 'is money got 'im off--JUSTICE!
[The prisoner's door is shut on JONES, and from the
seedy-looking men and women comes a hoarse and whispering groan.]
MAGISTRATE. We will now adjourn for lunch! [He rises from his
seat.]
[The Court is in a stir. ROPER gets up and speaks to the
reporter. JACK, throwing up his head, walks with a swagger to
the corridor; BARTHWICK follows.]
MRS. JONES. [Turning to him zenith a humble gesture.] Oh! sir!
[BARTHWICK hesitates, then yielding to his nerves, he makes a
shame-faced gesture of refusal, and hurries out of court.
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