As he hurried to court, Carroll said to himself, with a frown: “The reckless chump! What the dickens did he want with that picture, when he knew that telegram was a fake? I suppose that was the big laugh he promised me. He made up his mind that he’d get that snapshot, anyway, just to show those fellows how little he was afraid of them. Unfortunately, though, it looks as if they’ve turned the laugh on him. I wish I’d guessed what he was going to do, so that I could have persuaded him not to take such a desperate chance.” Although Carroll lost no time in getting to the courtroom, the Camera Chap was already being arraigned when he arrived there. Chief Hodgins was in such a fever of impatience to wreak his vengeance upon that young man that he had prevailed upon his honor to try the case ahead of several other less important cases which, according to the regular order, should have preceded it. News of Hawley’s arrest evidently had traveled fast, for Carroll recognized in the courtroom several men whose presence there, he felt sure, was prompted solely by a desire to see the Camera Chap sentenced to six months in the county jail. Prominent among these was old Delancey Gale, who stood beside his son, within the railed inclosure in front of the magistrate’s desk--a privilege accorded to representatives of the press--stroking his white, mutton-chop whiskers and shaking his head deprecatingly every time his gaze rested upon the prisoner’s smiling countenance, as though such depravity as he saw there was almost past his comprehension. Most of the other men in the spectators’ benches were politicians--members of the ring against which the _Bulletin_ was waging war. They had no grievance against Hawley personally, but they regarded his prosecution as a blow at Carroll and his newspaper, and therefore they had come there with thumbs down. As the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ entered the courtroom, he was greeted by vindictive scowls from this group. One had only to glance at their faces to realize how intensely bitter was their feeling toward this young New Yorker who had done--and was still doing--his level best to brand them as the grafters they were. But their scowls were quickly succeeded by friendly smiles as a burly, rawboned man of middle age, whose countenance was set in grim lines, entered the courtroom close on the heels of Carroll, stepped pompously up to the bench, and took a seat beside the magistrate without waiting for an invitation to do so. The newcomer was the Honorable Martin Henkle, mayor of Oldham, and the most powerful political boss that town had ever known. Mayor Henkle was not in the habit of gracing the police court with his presence; but so great was his interest in this case that he had adjourned an important hearing at the city hall in order to attend the trial.