“Never mind about the boys,” interrupted the chief, “tell us what the charge is against this girl.”

Jane and Dozia exchanged a look complimentary to that chief.  He had some sense they privately admitted.

“Yes, yer honor, I’m comin’ to that,” defended Sandy.  “She ran first after a boy, then after a girl, and I seen the package go through the air——­”

“Flyin’?  Had it wings or was it a toy balloon?” Chief Hadfield was not a man to disappoint his audience, and the laugh that thanked him for this quip set Sandy twirling and chewing more vigorously than ever.

“It was pegged, throwed, fired,” shouted Sandy, and his club just touched Judith’s sleeve, electrifying her into open indignation.

“Keep that—­stick down,” ordered the chief, while Judith’s indignation subsided.

How pretty she looked standing there in those sordid surroundings!  Contrast, the maker of all standards, outlined the tall dark-haired girl in her brilliant red junior cap and definite red sweater, like the central figure in some old time country picture, where urchins and queer men gave her the middle of the stage and plagiarized the scene, “At the Bar of Justice.”

“You caught this here flying joo-ell-ry?” demanded the chief.

“Oh no, oh no,” parried Sandy.  “Someone else caught that,” and he waddled his head from side to side in amplification.

“Who?  Where is it?” The chief was not playing the gallery now.

“The propri-e-tor of that there beauty institooshun has it, and it’s hers.  It had her name and address on it.”

A sneering titter from the audience followed that foolish statement.  Old Sour Sandy had balled things up considerably this time.

“Then what’s the charge and who makes it?” shouted and rapped Chief Hadfield.

“Loiterin’ and disturbing and I make th’ charge!” Sandy put his cap on in the excitement of that speech but quickly yanked it off again in respect to the court.

Jane and Dozia could not remain longer silent.  Evidently Judith had been educated in the absurd proceedings before they came.  Janet was now in from the telephone booth and stood beside her companions, while Jane attempted to interrupt.

“May I speak?” she called out in the most musical tone her voice would accept.

“Certainly, miss,” replied the chief.  He evidently did not share the opinion of his subordinate on Wellington girls’ character.

“This arrest is an outrage—­a frame-up,” declared Jane, glad to recall the vernacular.  “There are three witnesses here who saw the trouble and we’ll find others if you want them.  The fact is Officer Jamison is always cross with us students” (she put it mildly), “and he was, perhaps, too willing to listen to our enemies.  The proprietor of the beauty shop is a former Wellington student who was asked to withdraw last spring” (again the modification), “and this afternoon she saw her chance to retaliate—­to get even.”  Jane made sure of being understood and now suddenly ceased speaking.  She had learned the maxim, “When you say a good thing, stop.”