The Justice of the Peace (or, as he took some pains to inform Henry,
the Most Honourable Court of Special Sessions) was a grizzled
dyspeptic who held forth in the back room of a shoemaker's shop, while
the rabble waited outside, flattening their noses against the
window-glass. The dyspeptic had evidently been coached for the
proceeding; on his desk he had a copy of the ordinance, and as soon as
he had heard the charge, he delivered a lecture which he seemed to
have by heart, and fined Henry twenty-five dollars and costs. Henry
paid the fine, and turning to go, stumbled against two more policemen,
each with his quarry. "Just out of curiosity," said Henry, speaking to
no one in particular, and in a voice which came so faintly to his
ears that he barely heard it, "Just out of idle curiosity, when the
justice gets half the fine, isn't this court open on Sunday for
godless profit, too?" And in the same, enduring haze of unreality, he
paid an additional twenty dollars for contempt, and went out to the
sidewalk.
He emerged as the focus of interest for a large, exuberant crowd of
loiterers. A camera clicked, and Henry saw that the man at the shutter
was one of the _Herald's_ staff photographers. A youthful reporter
caught up with him, and asked him what he had to say for publication.
"Say for publication?" repeated Henry, dully. "Why, you can say--" He
walked half a block before he completed the sentence. "You can say if
I said it, you couldn't print it anyway."
And although the reporter paced him for a quarter of a mile, Henry
never opened his mouth again. He was curiously obsessed, as men under
heavy mental pressure are so often obsessed, by a ridiculously trivial
detail. How was he going to enter that forty-five dollars on his
books?
He had intended to go straight home to Anna, but automatically his
steps led him to the Orpheum, where he went into his tiny office and
sat down at his desk. There were two envelopes on his blotter; he slit
them, diffidently, and found a bill from the novelty house which had
supplied the souvenirs, and a supplementary statement from the
decorator.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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