The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

---

Chapter LII 
When Cowperwood reached the jail, Jaspers was there, glad to see him but 
principally relieved to feel that nothing had happened to mar his own 
reputation as a sheriff. Because of the urgency of court matters generally, it 
was decided to depart for the courtroom at nine o'clock. Eddie Zanders was 
once more delegated to see that Cowperwood was brought safely before 
Judge Payderson and afterward taken to the penitentiary. All of the papers 
in the case were put in his care to be delivered to the warden. 
"I suppose you know," confided Sheriff Jaspers to Steger, "that Stener is 
here. He ain't got no money now, but I gave him a private room just the 
same. I didn't want to put a man like him in no cell." Sheriff Jaspers 
sympathized with Stener. 
"That's right. I'm glad to hear that," replied Steger, smiling to himself. 
"I didn't suppose from what I've heard that Mr. Cowperwood would want to 
meet Stener here, so I've kept 'em apart. George just left a minute ago with 
another deputy." 
"That's good. That's the way it ought to be," replied Steger. He was glad for 
Cowperwood's sake that the sheriff had so much tact. Evidently George and 
the sheriff were getting along in a very friendly way, for all the former's bitter 
troubles and lack of means. 
The Cowperwood party walked, the distance not being great, and as they did 
so they talked of rather simple things to avoid the more serious. 
"Things aren't going to be so bad," Edward said to his father. "Steger says 
the Governor is sure to pardon Stener in a year or less, and if he does he's 
bound to let Frank out too." 
Cowperwood, the elder, had heard this over and over, but he was never tired 
of hearing it. It was like some simple croon with which babies are hushed to 
sleep. The snow on the ground, which was enduring remarkably well for this 
time of year, the fineness of the day, which had started out to be clear and 
bright, the hope that the courtroom might not be full, all held the attention 
of the father and his two sons. Cowperwood, senior, even commented on 
some sparrows fighting over a piece of bread, marveling how well they did in 
winter, solely to ease his mind. Cowperwood, walking on ahead with Steger 
and Zanders, talked of approaching court proceedings in connection with 
his business and what ought to be done. 
When they reached the court the same little pen in which Cowperwood had 
awaited the verdict of his jury several months before was waiting to receive 
him. 

---

Cowperwood, senior, and his other sons sought places in the courtroom 
proper. Eddie Zanders remained with his charge. Stener and a deputy by the 
name of Wilkerson were in the room; but he and Cowperwood pretended 
now not to see each other. Frank had no objection to talking to his former 
associate, but he could see that Stener was diffident and ashamed. So he let 
the situation pass without look or word of any kind. After some three-
quarters of an hour of dreary waiting the door leading into the courtroom 
proper opened and a bailiff stepped in. 
"All prisoners up for sentence," he called. 
There were six, all told, including Cowperwood and Stener. Two of them 
were confederate housebreakers who had been caught red-handed at their 
midnight task. 
Another prisoner was no more and no less than a plain horse-thief, a young 
man of twenty-six, who had been convicted by a jury of stealing a grocer's 
horse and selling it. The last man was a negro, a tall, shambling, illiterate, 
nebulous-minded black, who had walked off with an apparently discarded 
section of lead pipe which he had found in a lumber-yard. His idea was to 
sell or trade it for a drink. He really did not belong in this court at all; but, 
having been caught by an undersized American watchman charged with the 
care of the property, and having at first refused to plead guilty, not quite 
understanding what was to be done with him, he had been perforce bound 
over to this court for trial. 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. Eddie 
Zanders, in his self-appointed position as guide and mentor to Cowperwood, 
had confided nearly all of this data to him as he stood waiting. 
The courtroom was crowded. It was very humiliating to Cowperwood to have 
to file in this way along the side aisle with these others, followed by Stener, 
well dressed but sickly looking and disconsolate. 
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. The lower court, because the complainant would not forego 
the charge, was compelled to bind him over to this court for trial. Since then 
he has changed his mind and has admitted his guilt to the district attorney. 
He would not be brought before you except we have no alternative. He has to 
be brought here now in order to clear the calendar." 

---

Judge Payderson stared quizzically at the negro, who, obviously not very 
much disturbed by this examination, was leaning comfortably on the gate or 
bar before which the average criminal stood erect and terrified. He had been 
before police-court magistrates before on one charge and another—
drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and the like—but his whole attitude was 
one of shambling, lackadaisical, amusing innocence. 
"Well, Ackerman," inquired his honor, severely, "did you or did you not steal 
this piece of lead pipe as charged here—four dollars and eighty cents' 
worth?" 
"Yassah, I did," he began. "I tell you how it was, jedge. I was a-comin' along 
past dat lumber-yard one Saturday afternoon, and I hadn't been wuckin', 
an' I saw dat piece o' pipe thoo de fence, lyin' inside, and I jes' reached thoo 
with a piece o' boad I found dey and pulled it over to me an' tuck it. An' 
aftahwahd dis Mistah Watchman man"—he waved his hand oratorically 
toward the witness-chair, where, in case the judge might wish to ask him 
some questions, the complainant had taken his stand—"come around tuh 
where I live an' accused me of done takin' it." 
"But you did take it, didn't you?" 
"Yassah, I done tuck it." 
"What did you do with it?" 
"I traded it foh twenty-five cents." 
"You mean you sold it," corrected his honor. 
"Yassah, I done sold it." 
"Well, don't you know it's wrong to do anything like that? Didn't you know 
when you reached through that fence and pulled that pipe over to you that 
you were stealing? Didn't you?" 
"Yassah, I knowed it was wrong," replied Ackerman, sheepishly. "I didn' 
think 'twuz stealin' like zackly, but I done knowed it was wrong. I done 
knowed I oughtn' take it, I guess." 
"Of course you did. Of course you did. That's just it. You knew you were 
stealing, and still you took it. Has the man to whom this negro sold the lead 
pipe been apprehended yet?" the judge inquired sharply of the district 
attorney. "He should be, for he's more guilty than this negro, a receiver of 
stolen goods." 
"Yes, sir," replied the assistant. "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. "Now, look here, 
Ackerman," he exclaimed, irritated at having to bother with such a pretty 
case, "I want to say something to you, and I want you to pay strict attention 
to me. Straighten up, there! Don't lean on that gate! You are in the presence 
of the law now." Ackerman had sprawled himself comfortably down on his 
elbows as he would have if he had been leaning over a back-fence gate 
talking to some one, but he immediately drew himself straight, still grinning 
foolishly and apologetically, when he heard this. "You are not so dull but 
that you can understand what I am going to say to you. The offense you 
have committed—stealing a piece of lead pipe—is a crime. Do you hear me? 
A criminal offense—one that I could punish you very severely for. I could 
send you to the penitentiary for one year if I chose—the law says I may—one 
year at hard labor for stealing a piece of lead pipe. Now, if you have any 
sense you will pay strict attention to what I am going to tell you. I am not 
going to send you to the penitentiary right now. I'm going to wait a little 
while. I am going to sentence you to one year in the penitentiary—one year. 
Do you understand?" Ackerman blanched a little and licked his lips 
nervously. "And then I am going to suspend that sentence—hold it over your 
head, so that if you are ever caught taking anything else you will be 
punished for this offense and the next one also at one and the same time. 
Do you understand that? Do you know what I mean? Tell me. Do you?" 
"Yessah! I does, sir," replied the negro. "You'se gwine to let me go now—tha's 
it." 
The audience grinned, and his honor made a wry face to prevent his own 
grim grin. 
"I'm going to let you go only so long as you don't steal anything else," he 
thundered. "The moment you steal anything else, back you come to this 
court, and then you go to the penitentiary for a year and whatever more time 
you deserve. Do you understand that? Now, I want you to walk straight out 
of this court and behave yourself. Don't ever steal anything. Get something 
to do! Don't steal, do you hear? Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to 
you! Don't come back here! If you do, I'll send you to the penitentiary, sure." 
"Yassah! No, sah, I won't," replied Ackerman, nervously. "I won't take nothin' 
more that don't belong tuh me." 
He shuffled away, after a moment, urged along by the guiding hand of a 
bailiff, and was put safely outside the court, amid a mixture of smiles and 
laughter over his simplicity and Payderson's undue severity of manner. But 
the next case was called and soon engrossed the interest of the audience. 
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. 
He wondered now whether by any chance Aileen was here. He had objected 
to her coming, but she might have done so. She was, as a matter of fact, in 
the extreme rear, pocketed in a crowd near the door, heavily veiled, but 
present. She had not been able to resist the desire to know quickly and 
surely her beloved's fate—to be near him in his hour of real suffering, as she 
thought. She was greatly angered at seeing him brought in with a line of 
ordinary criminals and made to wait in this, to her, shameful public 
manner, but she could not help admiring all the more the dignity and 
superiority of his presence even here. He was not even pale, as she saw, just 
the same firm, calm soul she had always known him to be. If he could only 
see her now; if he would only look so she could lift her veil and smile! He 
didn't, though; he wouldn't. He didn't want to see her here. But she would 
tell him all about it when she saw him again just the same. 
The two burglars were quickly disposed of by the judge, with a sentence of 
one year each, and they were led away, uncertain, and apparently not 
knowing what to think of their crime or their future. 
When it came to Cowperwood's turn to be called, his honor himself stiffened 
and straightened up, for this was a different type of man and could not be 
handled in the usual manner. He knew exactly what he was going to say. 
When one of Mollenhauer's agents, a close friend of Butler's, had suggested 
that five years for both Cowperwood and Stener would be about right, he 
knew exactly what to do. "Frank Algernon Cowperwood," called the clerk. 
Cowperwood stepped briskly forward, sorry for himself, ashamed of his 
position in a way, but showing it neither in look nor manner. Payderson 
eyed him as he had the others. 
"Name?" asked the bailiff, for the benefit of the court stenographer. 
"Frank Algernon Cowperwood." 
"Residence?" 
"1937 Girard Avenue." 
"Occupation?" 
"Banker and broker." 
Steger stood close beside him, very dignified, very forceful, ready to make a 
final statement for the benefit of the court and the public when the time 
should come. Aileen, from her position in the crowd near the door, was for 
the first time in her life biting her fingers nervously and there were great 

---

beads of perspiration on her brow. Cowperwood's father was tense with 
excitement and his two brothers looked quickly away, doing their best to 
hide their fear and sorrow. 
"Ever convicted before?" 
"Never," replied Steger for Cowperwood, quietly. 
"Frank Algernon Cowperwood," called the clerk, in his nasal, singsong way, 
coming forward, "have you anything to say why judgment should not now be 
pronounced upon you? If so, speak." 
Cowperwood started to say no, but Steger put up his hand. 
"If the court pleases, my client, Mr. Cowperwood, the prisoner at the bar, is 
neither guilty in his own estimation, nor in that of two-fifths of the 
Pennsylvania State Supreme Court—the court of last resort in this State," he 
exclaimed, loudly and clearly, so that all might hear. 
One of the interested listeners and spectators at this point was Edward 
Malia Butler, who had just stepped in from another courtroom where he had 
been talking to a judge. An obsequious court attendant had warned him 
that Cowperwood was about to be sentenced. He had really come here this 
morning in order not to miss this sentence, but he cloaked his motive under 
the guise of another errand. He did not know that Aileen was there, nor did 
he see her. 
"As he himself testified at the time of his trial," went on Steger, "and as the 
evidence clearly showed, he was never more than an agent for the gentleman 
whose offense was subsequently adjudicated by this court; and as an agent 
he still maintains, and two-fifths of the State Supreme Court agree with 
him, that he was strictly within his rights and privileges in not having 
deposited the sixty thousand dollars' worth of city loan certificates at the 
time, and in the manner which the people, acting through the district 
attorney, complained that he should have. My client is a man of rare 
financial ability. By the various letters which have been submitted to your 
honor in his behalf, you will see that he commands the respect and the 
sympathy of a large majority of the most forceful and eminent men in his