Erik Dorn

nscious vigor. To the thousand and one droners about him, the law was a remunerative game in which one matched platitude with bromide, legal precedent of the State of Il

oles out of which to drag dubious acquittals for his clients. His profession was a part of his nature. He saw it as a battle ground on which, under the bab

itt armor. In him had been authentically born the mania for conformity. He was a prosecutor by birth. Against that which did not conform, against all that squirmed for some expression beyond the tick-tock of life,

ewed the activities of lawbreakers with a sense of personal outrage. He, Hazlitt, was a part of society-a conscious unit of a state of mind, which state of mind was carefully written out in text-book editorials, and on tablets handed down by God fr

nunciation of evil-doers was the boasting of George Hazlitt, "I am not one of them." The more vigorous the denunciation, the more vigorous the boast. The hanging of a man for the crime of m

reakers found itself equally on his devotion to law. He perceived in the orderly streets, in the miles of houses, in the smoothly functioning commerce and governme

rred with a feeling of outrage against the confusion attending a street-car strike. His intelligence, clinging like some militant parasite t

d out of man's fear of man and insuring a mutual protection against his predatory habits, was to Hazlitt a religion. He denied himself pleasures and convenient expressions for his impulses in order to spare others displeasure and inconvenience. And his nature demanded a si

louds were certain to step on one's feet. Dreamers were scoundrels or lunatics who sought to justify their unfitness for society by ridiculing it as unworthy and by phantasizing over new values and standards whic

or this he perhaps hated them most. Their phantasies sometimes lifted him into moments of disorder, moments of doubt as revolting to his spirit as were s

t-left him with no fine feeling of the victorious sufficiency of himself. Thus to conceal himself from doubts always threatening an appearance, it was necessary for him to assume a viciousness of attitude not entirely sincere. So he read with unction pol

d old things of life. Things that mean something." And e

imself a dreamer. Champions of order and champions of disor

and clear-headed, he sat one winter afternoon against his chosen background-the swarm and clutte

d to marry her, had sauntered out of the jury-box to determine now whether the young woman should be hanged, imprisoned, or liberated. The excitements attending the trial had brought a reaction to Hazlitt. He seemed suddenly to have lost interest i

beastly hungers upon the finest fruits of life-the beauty and sacrifice of a maiden's first love-are such creatures men or fiends, gentlemen of the jury?" And then ... "spurned, taunted by the sneers of one of these vipers, her pleadings answered with laughter and blows of a fist, the soul of Pauline Pollard grew suddenly dark. Where had been sanity, innocence, and love, now came insanity. Her girl's mind-like sweet bells jangled out of tune-brought no longer the high message of reason into her heart. We sitting here in this sunny courtroom, gentlemen, can think and reason. But Pauline Pollard, struggling in t

terne had blithely taken what he desired and blithely discarded what he did not desire. The twelve good men and true bethought them of their wives whom they did not desire and yet kept. And of the young women and the things of flesh and spirit they desired with every life-beat in them and yet did not take. Was this terrible denial which, for reasons beyond their incomplete brains, they imposed upon thems

rsons on trial were twelve good men and true who were being called upon to decide, somewhat dramatically, whether they were right in living in a manner pe

auline Pollard would again be free. And twelve men would return to their homes with a high

ly for the dramatic moment of the verdict; living vicariously the suspense of the defendant-depressed him. The newspaper reporters buzzing around, forming t

even the emptiness of the struggle between good and evil. He sat thinking of her now, contrasting the virginal figure of her with the coarseness of the thing in which he had been

w. Even after he had won her there would be this thing he could not see; that trailed a dream song in his heart and kept him groping toward the far lips of the singer. Yes, they would marry. She had refused to see him twice since the night he had wept on the stair, leaving her. But the memories of that night had adjusted themselves. He had seen love in the eyes of Rachel as he held her hand. She had laughed love to him, given him for an instant the vision of beauty-lighted places waiting for him. The rest had been ... neurasthenia. Thus he had forgotten her words and his tears and the vivid

tside. Pauline's hand gripped his forearm. Her fingers burned. Raps of a gavel for silence. The judge spoke. A sad-faced man, with a heavy mustache comb

h the verdict. People were good at heart. A triumph for decency cheered them. People were not revengeful at heart, only decent. Congratulations ... "Thank you, thank you! No, Miss Pollard has nothing

ready, Mi

t thank th

s. "There, there, little woman. Start over. W

ell, she was his mother. It would only have satisfied h

d made in her. She was a woman like any other woman now.... His overcoat might do for

sfaction did women find in kissing and hugging each other? "Thank God, Pauline. Oh, I'm so glad".... G

nt of having stepped into a strange world. The sharp cold restored his wandering energies and a realization of

.. a pleasant, comforting contact. What more was life, anyway? A warmth in the heart that came from the knowledge of work we

o your office,

as free. He patted the gloved hand on his arm and w

er. I feel lost. Really." She returned his sm

r in the same snow with no secrets from each other.... All friends".... Hazlitt walked with the girl through the streets. The

floor, p

crawled an inch farther down the floor. Hazlitt smiled. This, too, was a part of life-keeping the floors of the building scrubbed. He won law cases. Old women scrubbed floors. It fitted into an

all over, Mi

ad discussed her defense. Hazlitt, unloading his brief-case, looked at

line's eyes stared sadly about the room. "I'm

w, Miss

's stil

forget

Somewhere. Alon

e don'

ing him with her damned wailing ... and Frankie dying at her feet whispering, "What the devil, Pauline?" Then the trial. Hot and cold hours. A roomful of silent, open-mouthed faces listening to her weep, watching her squirm with proper shame and anguish as she told her story to the jurors ... the details of the abortion. "And then I couldn't stand it. I

and done. Now there was nothing left but

shoulder. Poor child! The law could not free her from the remorse for her crime and mista

his was the real punishment ... beyond the power of the law to mete out. Punishm

e young. You can begin

r heart and filled her with helplessness. Life had gone from her. She was mourning for it. Mourning for a murderess and a sinner who had gone, abandoned her and left her a naked, unint

azlitt in front of her. Gently h

t," he bega

t ever be a

will, lit

, n

ighted windows drifting. Thoughts slipped

e don'

anew. It was nice to have somebody asking her not t

of hair. Arms that felt soft. She was mumbling c

rows of lighted windows drifting. Her body close, warm, and saddening. The firmness of his nerves dissolved. He had his sorrow too ... Rachel. Far away. Drifting like the snow outside. Rachel ... the odor

r-like her. Why had they kissed? And her hands clasping nervously at his shoulders? She was not in love? Not Rachel. But she wanted something. And he too. Something that was a dream song. Here were the lips of the singer, eager, reaching to his own. Pressing, asking more. How had this happened? Should he speak? But what? Nothing

r. No more. Now what? He threw his strength

ping. Her lips parted in desperate surre

he familiar sound of his voice he would have possessed her. But the word rang an alarm in his

ear. Her finger

er arms pressed them gently away, his fingers patting them

ve called her Pauline. Look bad in th

Geo

man sewed to his lapels. He lowered her as if she were lifeless and he fearful of disturbing her. She looked harmless in a chair. Was it p

s would come in and think things. Her hair in disorder and her face smeared with weeping would make them think thin

. We're just leaving. Are

d it deceive the mops and brooms? Damn the

stopped. Wouldn't it be a

okes?... the woman of it. Nothing had happened. She had nothing to think about. Wh

Pauline again. But she was silent. Nothing had happened. He grew frightened. She w

out when he hadn't, "You must forgive

thing had happened, but he would apologize anyway to

lard, you make me

She might have the decency to hesitate when he was apologizing for nothing. Hazlitt stuck his head in aft

r I hope she'll

to, m

and added, "Just

o cover up something. He must be frank. Drag everything into the open and show he wasn't afraid. But she was weeping again. He paused in conste

. Irrelevant and immaterial to the facts at issue in the case. But she had flung her arms around him. Not he! Never he! The woman was mad. Yes, a mad woman. Dangerous. She had done the same to the interne. Overruled. Overruled. What? Frank Hamel, gentleman of the jury, glutting his beastly hunger

tudes. Buildings were in it. They burst a skyrocket of windows into the night. There was snow. It fell twisting itself out of the darkness. Familiar faces, buildings, snow. Theater fa?ades ma

gs and lights were a part of it. They swarmed and danced about him, sending a shout to his heart. "We're upside down ... we're upside dow

evangels singing hymns on a corner. The soul of George Hazlitt grew sick. Night hands fastened themselves about his throat. Upside down ... heels

had kissed him on the mouth and moved her body. But once she had kissed another man thus-on the mouth, with her body moving, and therein lay a new world-a world of flying-haired M?nads and growling satyrs that

again focused itself into tableaux. The moment of doubt had shaken him as if rough hands had reached from an alley and clutched wildly at his throat. But it had gone, and the memory of it too was gone. Hands th

gence for a thing he proudly called Americanism, and thought for him had become a placid agitation of platitudes. But he could still dream. His emotions avenged his stupidity. Walking in the street-he felt

pe. And then like two animals they had stood sucking at each other's breath. God, what could he do? Nothing. He was unclean. He recalled with a dread the thought that had come to him in the embrace ... was she Rachel? Yes, she had been Rachel and he had lowered his dream to her lips, as if in the lust of a strange woman's kiss there lay th

hat could be walked off. Faster ... with an amorous mumble soothing him and the hurt. After all, was it so important? Yes ... no. Forgive h

hat was he smiling about? We're all in the snow ... all without secrets in the snow. Hail fellows of the street ... Curious, he should feel sad for a man who was smiling on a street corner. Tiredness. The man was cursing the snow good-humoredly. S

, George Hazlitt, attorney-at-law. He recalled ... they had met once in an office. A newspaperman-editor or something. Probably looking for news. Hazlitt was glad he had been

it in their homes. His name. Wonder who he was. A voice across the street answered, "Extra! Germans b

something beyond-a-mystery. "Extra!..." He should have bought a paper. There was the newspaper fellow again, still w