"I ought to be getting to bed," he complained. "I won't get more 'n four
hours' sleep as it is."

"Here comes the Clarke boy!" exclaimed Nance, and all eyes were turned in
the direction of the door.

The group that presented itself at the entrance was in sharp contrast to
its surroundings. Mac Clarke, arrayed in immaculate white, was flanked on
one side by his distinguished-looking father and on the other by his
father's distinguished-looking lawyer. The only evidence that the
aristocratic youth had ever come into contact with the riffraff of
Calvary Alley was the small patch of court-plaster above his right eye.

"Tell the judge we are here," said Mr. Clarke briskly to his lawyer. "Ask
him to get through with us as soon as possible. I have an appointment at
twelve-thirty."

The lawyer made his way up the aisle and disappeared through the
door which all the morning had been swallowing one small offender
after another.

Almost immediately a loud voice called from the platform:

"Case of Mac Clarke! Nance Molloy! Dan Lewis!" And Nance with a sudden
leap of her heart, knew that her time had come.

In the inner room, where the juvenile cases had a private hearing, the
judge sat at a big desk, scanning several pages of type-written paper. He
was a young judge with a keen, though somewhat weary, face and eyes, full