wagon?" protested one of the other newspaper men. "That would be rubbing
it in too hard."

Emphatically the others added their protest, and in the face of such
opposition, the sergeant countermanded his order for the police wagon,
and instead instructed Patrolman McCarty to take the boy to court,
which was less than two blocks away.

Surrounded by the reporters, Bob and the patrolman walked down the
street, closely followed by the countryman, whose desire to make money
without working for it had led to the loss of the seven hundred and
fifty dollars.

Arrived at the building in which the court was located, Bob was led away
to the detention room, to await the calling of his case, while the
reporters and Simpkins made their way direct to the court room.

In due course the case was reached.

When the presiding magistrate caught sight of Bob's sad face, the stern
expression on his own countenance relaxed, and he bestowed upon the
trembling boy a glance full of encouragement.

Noting this, Foster, who had been watching the judge intently, was
inspired with the hope that the boy would be quickly discharged. But his
pleasure was only momentary, for, as the magistrate read the charge, his
face became even more austere than usual.

"Well, Chester, what have you to say for yourself?" demanded the judge,
directing a glance at the boy, as though he would pierce his very soul.