"That's him, Yer Honor," replied the man, with a grin.
"Why, the highwayman takes a dime from me every time I venture on King Charles Street. And here he has the audacity to come and offer to pay a fine."
"Don't tek he money, Boss."
The prisoner said the words steadily, then caught her lower lip with her strong, white teeth.
"Address the Court as 'Your Honor,' not 'Boss,'" ordered the judge.
"Yo' Honuh," amended the culprit.
For a long moment the Recorder sat, his brow contracted. Then he drew a large cool, linen handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.
"Go out and take ten dollars from the beggar," he told the policeman. "It's a small fine for the offence." Then turning to the woman, he said:
"I am going to lock you up for ten days, but any time you give the name of that dope peddler to the jailor you can leave. Do you understand?"
Bess had nothing to say in reply, and after a moment the policeman took her by the arm.
"This way to the wagon," he directed, and led her from the court room.
