The Turn of the Balance. Brand Whitlock
again, and the young man who had been so frequently remarked in the line rose. His youthful face flushed scarlet; he glanced about the court-room, saw Ward, drew a heavy breath, and then fixed his eyes on the floor.
Eades looked at Metcalf, who stepped forward and began:
"In this case, your Honor, we desire to withdraw the plea of not guilty and substitute a plea of guilty. And I should like to say a few words for my client."
"Proceed," said McWhorter.
Metcalf, looking at his feet, took two or three steps forward, and then, lifting his head, suddenly began:
"Your Honor, this is the first time this young man has ever committed any crime. He is but twenty-three years old, and he has always borne a good reputation in this community. He is the sole support of a widowed mother, and–yes, he is the sole support of a widowed mother. He–a–has been for three years employed in the firm of Stephen Ward and Company, and has always until–a–this unfortunate affair enjoyed the confidence and esteem of his employers. He stands here now charged in the indictment with embezzlement; he admits his guilt. He has, as I say, never done wrong before–and I believe that this will be a lesson to him which he will not forget. He desires to throw himself on the mercy of the Court, and I ask the Court–to–a–be as lenient as possible."
"Has the State anything to say?" asked the judge.
"May it please the Court," said Eades, speaking in his low, studied tone, "we acquiesce in all that counsel for defense has said. This young man, so far as the State knows, has never before committed a crime. And yet, he has had the advantages of a good home, of an excellent mother, and he had the best prospects in life that a young man could wish. He was, as counsel has said, employed by Mr. Ward–who is here–" Eades turned half-way around and indicated Ward, who rose and felt that the time had come when he should go forward. "He was one of Mr. Ward's trusted employees. Unfortunately, he began to speculate on the Board himself, and it seems, in the stir of the recent excitement in wheat, appropriated some nine hundred dollars of his employer's money. Mr. Ward is not disposed to ideal harshly or in any vengeful spirit with this young man; he has shown, indeed, the utmost forbearance. Nor is the State disposed to deal in any such spirit with him; he, and especially his mother, have my sympathy. But we feel that the law must be vindicated and upheld, and while the State is disposed to leave with the Court the fixing of such punishment as may be appropriate, and has no thought of suggesting what the Court's duty shall be, still the State feels that the punishment should be substantial."
Eades finished and seated himself at the counsel table. The young lawyers looked at him, and, whispering among themselves, said that they considered the speech to have been very fitting and appropriate under the circumstances.
McWhorter deliberated a moment, and then, glancing toward the young man, suddenly saw Ward, and, thinking that if Ward would speak he would have more time to guess what punishment to give the boy, he said:
"Mr. Ward, do you care to be heard?"
Ward hesitated, changed color, and slowly advanced. He was not accustomed to speaking in public, and this was an ordeal for him. He came forward, halted, and then, clearing his throat, said:
"I don't know that I have anything much to say, only this–that this is a very painful experience to me. I"–he looked toward the youthful culprit–"I was always fond of Henry; he was a good boy, and we all liked him." The brown head seemed to sink between its shoulders. "Yes, we all liked him, and I don't know that anything ever surprised me so much as this thing did, or hurt me more. I didn't think it of him. I feel sorry for his mother, too. I–" Ward hesitated and looked down at the floor.
The situation suddenly became distressing to every one in the court-room. And then, with new effort, Ward went on: "I didn't like to have him prosecuted, but we employ a great many men, many of them young men, and it seemed to be my duty. I don't know; I've had my doubts. It isn't the money–I don't care about that; I'd be willing, so far as I'm concerned, to have him go free now. I hope, Judge, that you'll be as easy on him, as merciful as possible. That's about all I can say."
Ward sat down in the nearest chair, and the judge, knitting his brows, glanced out of the window. Nearly every one glanced out of the window, save Graves, who stood rigid, his eyes staring at the floor. Presently McWhorter turned and said:
"Graves, have you anything to say why the sentence of this court should not be passed on you?"
The youth raised his head, looked into McWhorter's eyes, and said:
"No, sir."
McWhorter turned suddenly and looked away.
"The Court does not remember in all his career a more painful case than this," he began. "That a young man of your training and connections, of your advantages and prospects, should be standing here at the bar of justice, a self-confessed embezzler, is sad, inexpressibly sad. The Court realizes that you have done a manly thing in pleading guilty; it speaks well for you that you were unwilling to add perjury to your other crime. The Court will take that into consideration." McWhorter nodded decisively.
"The Court will also take into consideration your youth, and the fact that this is your first offense. Your looks are in your favor. You are a young man who, by proper, sober, industrious application, might easily become a successful, honest, worthy citizen. Your employer speaks well of you, and shows great patience, great forbearance; he is ready to forgive you, and he even asks the Court to be merciful. The Court will take that fact into consideration as well."
Again McWhorter nodded decisively, and then, feeling that much was due to a man of Ward's position, went on:
"The Court wishes to say that you, Mr. Ward," he gave one of his nods in that gentleman's direction, "have acted the part of a good citizen in this affair. You have done your duty, as every citizen should, painful as it was. The Court congratulates you."
And then, having thought again of the painfulness of this duty, McWhorter went on to tell how painful his own duty was; but he said it would not do to allow sympathy to obscure judgment in such cases. He talked at length on this theme, still unable to end, because he did not know what sort of guess to make. And then he began to discuss the evils of speculation, and when he saw that the reporters were scribbling desperately to put down all he was saying, he extended his remarks and delivered a long homily on speculation in certain of its forms, characterizing it as one of the worst and most prevalent vices of the day. After he had said all he could think of on this topic, he spoke to Graves again, and explained to him the advantages of being in the penitentiary, how by his behavior he might shorten his sentence by several months, and how much time he would have for reflection and for the formation of good resolutions. It seemed, indeed, before he had done, that it was almost a deprivation not to be able to go to a penitentiary. But finally he came to an end. Then he looked once more out of the window, once more twirled his eye-glasses on their cord, and then, turning about, came to the reserved climax of his long address.
"The sentence of the Court, Mr. Graves, is that you be confined in the penitentiary at hard labor for the term of one year, no part of said sentence to consist of solitary confinement, and that you pay the costs of this prosecution."
The boy sat down, held out his wrists for the handcuffs, the steel clicked, the pen scratched in the silence.
Danner got up, marshaled his prisoners, and they marched out. The eyes of every one in the court-room followed them, the eyes of Ward fixed on Graves. As he looked, he saw a woman sitting on the last one of the benches near the door. Her head was bowed on her hand, but as the procession passed she raised her face, all red and swollen with weeping, and, with a look of love and tenderness and despair, fixed her eyes on Graves. The boy did not look at her, but marched by, his head resolutely erect.
VII
Ward returned to his office and to his work, but all that day, in the excitement on the floor of the exchange, during luncheon at the club, at his desk, in his carriage going home at evening, he saw before him that row of heads–the white poll of old Delaney, the woolly pate of the negro, but, more than all, the brown head of Harry Graves. And when he entered his home at evening the sadness of his reflections was still in his face.
"What's the matter