Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1876 — An Hour in the Detroit Police Court. [ARTICLE]

An Hour in the Detroit Police Court.

“ It’s awful—awful!” sighed Bijah, as he ranged the big Japan spittoons In battle-line across the room. “There I went and bet $2.18 on ’lection, and here it’s tied up in the stake-holder’s hands for goodness knows how long. I want a new box of collars, and my board bill is piling right up.” One of the prisoners overheard the old man growling around, and called out: “ Never mind, uncle, you can hang up your stocking pretty soon.” “ Yes, hang up my stocking,” sneered BiJah— “hang up my stocking and get a Sunday-school card, three harness buckles, a candy cat and four old herrings in it. You keep away from that door and don’t sass me, for I feel like a Numidian lion creeping through a Mississippi canebreak to eaten a colored State Senator.” His Honor came in, took in the situation, and consolingly said: “ Never mind, Bijah. Be good until court is over and you may go over to the Free Press of&ce and read all the Associated Press bulletins they have put out for a week.” The janitor’s feelings underwent a change at once, end as the crowd began to file in he went around singing: “ Another such • lection tune I never hope to see: And Mary had a little lamb, As white as It coaU ba.” When the gate was thrown open an old man walked out. He leaned heavily on his cane, and he sighed lonesomely as he looked up at the clock which was ticking his life Sway. “Old man, from what town came ye, and whither are ye going?” asked the Court. “ I came from Rochester, and I’m going to the bastile,” was the prompt reply. “ Do you mean that you want to be sent up?” i “I mean I got drunk, licked two of your police force, stand ready to lick two more, and don’t care a copper what becomes of me!” The Court looked down upon him again. The vision changed. He was not a good old man, floating gently down the stream of time to Heaven’s harbor. He wasn’t just the sort of an aged grandfather to sit in the chimney-corner and watch the fitful dance of the fiery tongues. He wasn’t the sort of an old man to smoke, a corn-cob pipe on the front veranda and tell his grandchildren how the Indians used to whoop around the fort of Detroit. No; he was a two-legged catamount, anxious for a row, and four stiff glasses of whisky wouldn’t weaken his legs a bit. “ Be it the bastile, then, fortiurty days.” said the Court. “ And look out for claws and gore when I am free!” growled the old duffer, and soon after disappearing within the corridor he was heard daring Bijab to knock a chip off his shoulder, or to Just barely touch his nose.

INFORMATION wanted. ’The second man out was Walter Gram, who was allowed his liberty a week ago because he had a heavy bet on election. His Honor was looking him over, when he said: “ I dropped in here last evening to find out who’s elected ?” “Ah-ha! And the Captain told you, didn’t he?” “ No, sir; he took me by the collar and shoved me into the cell.” “Didn’t he even hint to you that anybody was elected?” anxiously asked the Court. “ Not a hint, and there he knew I had monev on the result.” “ Well, life is full of sad undulations and sorrowful ridges. When we think we are up we are generally down. If anybody was to offer to make me Postmaster of Detroit it I would tel the nameof thenextPresidentlcouldn’tdoit.’- “ Why didn’t the Captain kindly tell me that the result was still uneertam?” demanded the prisoner. “ Why didn’t he treat me like a gentleman?” “ Don’t add to my anxiety,” replied his Honor. “All I know is that one of the captains has three boils on one of his legs, and perhaps it’s the one having charge here. Well, shall we say sixty ft* •‘ I don’t know nothing about sixty.” “ Sixty days up there on the eminence, I mean.” “ Would yon go and send me up for asking the news?” inquired Mr. “1 would!” “ Send me right up for wasting to know who was elected?” “Yes, sir!” “ Great snakes! But is that law?” “It is!” The prisoner fell back in despair, and even half an hour later, when the Black Maria came up on a trot, his eyes had a far-away look, as if his mind was still amazed. “PETER AND I.” It was a housewife this time, and while her papers were being made out she walked to the window, looked out at the dreary sky and said to herself: “How I do pity those poor women whose wash-day comes on Saturday!” “ Well, Mrs. Clayton,” remarked his Honor, as he bunched up the papers, “the charge is disturbing the peace. They say you had a row with your husband and hit him with a club.” “ Peter, come up here,” commanded the woman, turning to the audience. Peter came. There was a court-plaster over a scalp-wound, and her conviction seemed certain. “Now, dear Peter,” smiled the wife, “ you and I were playing around upstair, and you ran against the door. They say we had a fight, my darling, but you know better, don’t you?” Foran instant Peter was undecided, but a second look into her smiling face caused him to say: “ I never knew us to fight, and of course you didn’t strike me.” “ Peter and I never quarrel,” remarked the wife. “There isn’t a day that we don’t say how much we love each other, and how glad we are that fate threw us together. Are you satisfied. Judge*” The Court gave Pater a lookef contempt, and motioned the pair to go out, while Bijah wore agrinas bigaaabee-hivqwhen I he closed the court.—4Mro»4 FVw