and taken to the men's Night Court. Hers is a hard, tough face of the
lowest type.

"Why should you try to scratch the man's face? What did he do?" the
judge asks. "Is he your husband?"

"My husband, your Honor? Yes, I guess you can call Al that. We lives
up town and when I went out he says to me, 'Hustle, kid, you got to
hustle, the rent's due and if you don't get the money I'll break your
neck.' The slob won't work. Well, a night like this you couldn't make
a cent and I only had half a dollar and I wanted to get a bite to eat.
I hadn't had a thing since four o'clock, and then I met Al going down
Sixt' Avenue an' he tries to swipe me fifty cents off me and I was
that wild I wanted to tear him. I'm sorry; I guess it was my fault. I
don't want to see him jugged, so please let me off, your Honor, and I
won't make no trouble."

"Take her record," said the judge, "and hold her as a witness against
the man."

A string of women are brought in for sentence who have been having
finger prints taken in the adjoining room. The judge proceeds to
impose sentences according to the previous records which are shown.
Some of the women are those who have passed in front before. The
little bedraggled woman with the red feather has been arrested seven
times in sixteen months. Another has spent eight weeks in the
workhouse out of a period of seven months; another has been sent
already to the Bedford Reformatory; another has been twice to houses
of reform. Before the judge gives his sentence he refers the prisoners
to the probation officer, who talks with them in a motherly way.