them, eager to get a brutal joke for their papers out of the
accumulated mass of misery before them, whether it be at the expense
of the deaf, blind, or crippled man, or the alien.

And opposite the bench, the dock, divided by a partition, with the
women to the left and the men to the right, as it is on the stairs or
the block in polite society. They bring children here no longer. The
same shaking, wild-eyed, blood-shot-eyed and blear-eyed drunks and
disorderlies, though some of the women have nerves yet; and the same
decently dressed, but trembling and conscience-stricken little wretch
up for petty larceny or something, whose motor car bosses of a big
firm have sent a solicitor, "manager," or some understrapper here to
prosecute and give evidence.

But, over there, on a form to one side of the bench-opposite the
witness box--and as the one bright spot in this dark, and shameful,
and useless scene--and in a patch of sunlight from the skylight as it
happens--sit representatives of the Prisoners' Aid Society, Prison
Gate and Rescue Brigades, etc. (one or two of the ladies in nurses'
uniforms), who are come to help us and to fight for us against the Law
of their Land and of ours, God help us!

Mrs Johnson, of Red Rock Lane, is here, and her rival in revolution,
One-Eyed Kate, and Cock-Eyed Sal, and one or two of the other
aristocrats of the alley. And the weeping bedraggled remains of what
was once, and not so long ago, a pretty, slight, fair-haired and
blue-eyed Australian girl. She is up for inciting One-Eyed Kate to
resist the police. Also, Three-Pea Ginger, Stousher, and Wingy, for
some participation in the row amongst the aforementioned ladies.
(Wingy, by the way, is a ratty little one-armed man, whose case is