The copper laughed derisively, and the girl turned a cynical young-old face to Jarvis.
“Much obliged, kid, but it ain’t no use. He’s got me spotted.”
“If you arrest her, you must arrest me.”
“I got nottin’ on you.”
“Yes, you have. I said ‘Good evening’ to her, just what she said to me.”
“Get the hell out of here, and don’t give me none of your lip, or I’ll run you in. Come along!” the policeman ordered, and he and the girl started on toward Jefferson Market. Jarvis marched beside them. When they turned in at the door where prisoners are entered, the policeman again ordered Jarvis off.
“Go round in front if you’re crazy to be in on this,” he said.
Jarvis hurried round to the front door and went in. The courtroom was packed. He had trouble in finding a seat, but he finally got into the front row, just behind the rail that divides the dock from the spectators. One half of the room was full of swine—fat, blowse-necked Jewish men, lawyers, cadets, owners of houses—all the low breeds who fatten off the degradation of women. Their business was to pay the fines or go bail.
