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Show 60 and avoided all this, of how I was on their side. Then I realized they were all looking at me, my father, the cop, the J.P., the chief and Buck. "Do you plead guilty or not guilty?" I was shocked at the bald choice. "Guilty, I guess." "What? Louder, boy!" "Guilty." Already I was ashamed to be intimidated, but they only gave you a warning for the first offense anyhow. "All right," said the J.P., as if that's what he expected all along, "I sentence you to a fine of ten dollars or ten days in jail at hard labor." After a while he looked back up at me, sort of surprised. "That's all, boy. Go see the chief." I felt as if I had patted a wild horse on the wrong end. I felt clobbered, dazed and numb, and I followed my father meekly into the chief's office. Buck came out to take his place before the J.P., swaggering, looking about as worried as if Darrow were defending him, and he grinned at me with bruised lips, winked and went on. At me? What the hell did I have in common with him? Unless I ended up in jail with him. Suddenly I wondered if my father would pay my fine or let me go to jail to teach me a lesson. And no Loretta to comfort me. Holding the phone, the chief swiveled away from his desk and indicated that we should wait, swiveled back to his desk, talking low. From the courtroom I heard Buck say Not Guilty! with that stupid cocky ring to his voice, and I looked back to see him standing where I had, but balanced easily on spread legs, hands on his hips, grinning impudently at the J.P. The J. P. leaned his cheek on one hand and smiled. "Now, Buck, it says here you had whiskey on your breath." "Sure, I'd had a few." He lisped through that hole in his teeth. |
