“Oh, all right,” returned the sergeant disgustedly.
The crowd was disposed to protest, but the police were in sufficient force to make resistance unsafe, and Danny was lifted into the patrol-wagon.
At the station the captain happened to be present when Danny was brought in, escorted by a wagon-load of policemen.
“What’s the charge?” asked the captain.
“Assault and battery on a grown man!” was the scornful reply of the sergeant.
“What did he do?” persisted the surprised captain.
“Hurt his digestion with a rock,” explained the sergeant.
“I was on strike,” said Danny. “I’m a good union man. You got no business to touch me.”
“I understand,” said the sergeant, “that he was discharged, and he stationed himself outside with a pile of rocks.”
“You’ve no right to do that,” the captain told Danny.
“They all do it,” asserted Danny.
This was so near the truth that the captain thought it wise to dodge the subject.
“Of course, if no one else will take a man’s place,” he explained, “the employer will have to take him back or—”
“There wasn’t nobody tryin’ to take my place—not while I was there!” asserted Danny belligerently.
“That’s no lie, either,” laughed the sergeant. “He had the office tied up tight.”
Danny swelled with pride at this testimonial to his prowess. Then it suddenly occurred to him that the sergeant did not act as he talked.
“What’d you butt in for, then?” he demanded.
“It was his duty,” said the captain.
“Ho!” exclaimed Danny. “It’s your business to protect the public, ain’t it?”
“Of course,” admitted the captain.
“Well, ain’t we the public?”
The captain laughed uneasily. His experience as a policeman had left him very much in doubt as to who were the public. Both sides to a controversy always claimed that distinction, and the law-breaker was usually the louder in his claims. Danny’s inability to see anything but his own side of the case was far from unusual.
The captain took Danny into his private office and talked to him. The captain did not wish to lock up the boy, so he sent for Danny’s father and also for the manager of the branch messenger-office. Meanwhile he tried to explain the matter to Danny, but Danny was obtuse. Why should not he do as his father and his father’s friends did? When they had a disagreement with the boss, they picketed the plant, and ensuing incidents sent many people to the hospitals. Why was it worse for one boy to do this than it was for some hundreds or thousands of men? Danny was confident that he was within his rights.
“Dad knows,” he said in conclusion. “Dad’ll say I’m right. You got no business mixin’ in.”
“Dad’s coming,” the captain told him.
The manager came first. “The boy ought to be punished,” said he. “He hit me with a rock.”
“I wish you’d seen him,” said the beaming Danny to the captain, for the recollection of that victory made all else seem trivial. “Say! he doubled up like a clown droppin’ into a barrel.”
“If he isn’t punished,” asserted the glowering manager, “he’ll get worse and worse and end by going to the devil.”
“Perhaps,” replied the captain. “But just stand beside him a moment, please. Don’t dodge, Danny. He’ll go behind the bars if he touches you. Stand side by side.”
They did so.
“Now,” said the captain to the manager, “how do you think you’ll look, standing beside him in the police court and accusing him of assault and battery?”
“Like a fool,” replied the manager promptly, forced to laugh in spite of himself.
“And what kind of a story—illustrated story—will it be for the papers?” persisted the captain.
“Let him go,” said the manager; “but he ought to be whaled.”
It was at this point that Dan arrived, accompanied by his wife.
“F’r why sh’u’d he be whaled?” demanded the latter aggressively.
The matter was explained to her.
“Is that thrue, Danny?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied the boy.
“Well, I’d like to see anny wan outside the fam’ly whale ye,” she said, with a defiant look at the manager, “but I’ll do it mesilf.”
Danny was astounded. In this quarter at least he had expected support. He glanced at his father.
“I’ll take a lick or two at ye mesilf,” said Dan. “The idee of breakin’ the law an’ makin’ all this throuble.”
“You’ve done it yourself,” argued Danny.
“Shut up!” commanded Dan. “Ye don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about. A sthrike’s wan thing an’ disordherly conduct’s another.”
“This was a strike,” insisted Danny.
“Where’s the union?” demanded Dan.
“I’m it,” replied Danny. “I was organizin’ it.”
“If ye’ll let him go, Captain,” said Dan, ignoring his son’s reply, “I’ll larrup him good.”
“For what?” wailed Danny. “I was only doin’ what you said was right, an’ what mom said was right, an’ what you’ve all been talkin’ for years. You’ve been a picket yourself, an’ I’ve heard you laughin’ over the way men who wouldn’t strike was done up. We got to organize. Wasn’t I organizin’? We got to enforce our rights. Wasn’t I enforcin’ them? We got to discourage traitors to the cause of labor. Wasn’t I discouragin’ them? Didn’t the union tie up a plant once when you was discharged? What’s eatin’ you, dad?”
Danny’s own presentation of the case was so strong that it gave him courage. But the last question made Dan jump, although he was not accustomed to any extraordinary show of respect from his son.
“The lad has no sinse,” he announced, “but I’ll larrup him plenty. Ye get an exthry wan f’r that, Danny. I’ll tache ye that ye’re not runnin’ things.”
“Makin’ throuble f’r father an’ mother an’ th’ good man that’s payin’ ye wages we need at home,” added Mrs. Burke.
“Now, what do you think of that?” whimpered Danny, as he was led away. “I’m to be licked fer doin’ what he does. Why don’t he teach himself the same, an’ stop others from doin’ what he talks?”
“Danny,” said the commiserating captain, “you’re to be licked for learning your lesson too well, and that’s the truth.”
But that did not make the situation any the less painful for Danny.
THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY, by Mark Twain
In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend’s friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion thatLeonidas W. Smiley is a myth; and that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler about him, it