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Updated: May 27, 2025
It was that of the two housebreakers whom Cowperwood had been and was still studying with much curiosity. In all his life before he had never witnessed a sentencing scene of any kind. He had never been in police or criminal courts of any kind rarely in any of the civil ones. He was glad to see the negro go, and gave Payderson credit for having some sense and sympathy more than he had expected.
Judge Wilbur Payderson, a lean herring of a man, who had sat in this case originally as the examining judge when Cowperwood had been indicted by the grand jury, and who had bound him over for trial at this term, was a peculiarly interesting type of judge, as judges go. He was so meager and thin-blooded that he was arresting for those qualities alone.
"His case is before Judge Yawger." "Quite right. It should be," replied Payderson, severely. "This matter of receiving stolen property is one of the worst offenses, in my judgment." He then turned his attention to Ackerman again.
Here they were now, standing and gazing solemnly before them; and here now was Judge Payderson, mounting the steps of his rostrum, his frizzled hair standing out in a strange, attractive way, his familiar bailiff rapping for order. He did not look at Cowperwood it would not be courteous but at the jury, who gazed at him in return.
They might convict him, and then Butler's Judge Payderson would have the privilege of sentencing him giving him the maximum sentence. That would not be so nice five years! He cooled a little as he thought of it, but there was no use worrying about what had not yet happened.
Cowperwood is an honorable, honest man, and so does his counsel, Mr. Steger. You have heard the testimony. Now you think it over. I wouldn't; but then I am merely a hard-working lawyer one person, one opinion. Gentlemen, the decision rests with you." He turned away grandly, and the jury stirred so did the idle spectators in the court. Judge Payderson sighed a sigh of relief.
Judge Payderson came in after a time, accompanied by his undersized but stout court attendant, who looked more like a pouter-pigeon than a human being; and as they came, Bailiff Sparkheaver rapped on the judge's desk, beside which he had been slumbering, and mumbled, "Please rise!" The audience arose, as is the rule of all courts.
Afterward he had changed his mind and admitted his guilt, so he now had to come before Judge Payderson for sentence or dismissal. The lower court before which he had originally been brought had lost jurisdiction by binding him over to to higher court for trial.
The negro, Charles Ackerman, was the first on the list. "How is it this man comes before me?" asked Payderson, peevishly, when he noted the value of the property Ackerman was supposed to have stolen. "Your honor," the assistant district attorney explained, promptly, "this man was before a lower court and refused, because he was drunk, or something, to plead guilty.
So, Cowperwood thought, Butler was curious enough as to his fate to want to come here and watch him tried. Shannon was his tool. Judge Payderson was his emissary, in a way. He, Cowperwood, might defeat him in the matter of his daughter, but it was not so easy to defeat him here unless the jury should happen to take a sympathetic attitude.
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