Unto the Least –

By Elsie Chamberlain Carroll

Previous Chapter

The caretaker looked at him curiously.

“He’s the one that wrecked young Gary Burke’s car, isn’t he? And almost killed Gary.”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“He’s a hard customer.”

“Will you bring him to the waiting room?”

In a few minutes Butch appeared, sullen and defiant.

“Hello, Butch,” the judge said, groping in his mind for words to bridge the abyss between them.

The boy grunted half audibly and stood with fists clenched. In the silence that followed he gave one furtive glance upward to meet Thorne’s eyes. Again the man thought of the puppy he had befriended long ago.

“I’ve just seen a friend of yours, Butch,” the judge said, hoping to find an opening through the wall of resentment the boy had set between them.

“I ain’t got no friends.”

“Oh, but you have, as loyal a friend as any man could wish for.” Maybe the word man would dent the wall. He remembered how it used to seem to add visible inches to Ted’s height and sense of importance.

But no perceptible change was apparent in the youth before him.

“Your friend wants you to have a nice Christmas.”

“Christmas!” sneered Butch. “What’s that?”

“Sit down, Butch, and let’s talk about Chuck.”

The sullen face lifted, and the brooding eyes searched the man’s face.

“You seen Chuckie?” he demanded.

The diminutive form of the name and a touch of wistfulness and concern in the voice gave the judge heart.

“Yes, I took him home tonight.”

Butch became agitated.

“He ain’t done nothin’. Chuckie wouldn’t do nothin’ bad. He ain’t in trouble, is he?” The concern was genuine.

“No, no, he isn’t in trouble. But he’s worried about you.”

“Is anyone givin’ him grub?”

“He isn’t hungry tonight. Butch, tell me about Chuckie.”

There was silence. The boy’s eyes scanned the floor. Finally he asked, “Why?”

“I’d like to know. He’s a fine little fellow, and he idolizes you. How did you come to take care of him? He says you adopted him for a brother. Won’t you tell me how it happened?”

Another silence.

“I’d like to do something for Chuckie, now you can’t take care of him. I’m interested in him.”

“If that’s on the level, guess I kin tell ya. Now I can’t look out for him till I git out. How long ya goin’ t’ send me up for?”

“Let’s talk about Chuckie for a few minutes. How did you find him? Is he a relative?”

“No, he ain’t a real relative. We jist say we’re brothers. I found him ‘bout three years ago. I went down to the hobo camp one mornin’, an’ I wuz pokin’ around in the tin cans and paper sacks when I heard Chuckie whimperin’ in some old blankets under a tree. That’s how I found him.”

“How did he come to be in such a place? Who is he? Where are his people? Had he been there long in the hobo camp?”

“Chuckie said he and his uncle jist got there that day. They hid in a freight car. They had a fight ‘bout him. The rest o’ the hobos didn’t want a kid in the camp.”

“Where is the uncle now? Didn’t he come back?”

“I ain’t never seen him. Chuckie told me what he could ‘bout it, but he wuz only five an’ wuz in bed when the fight started an’ too scared to make a noise.”

“And he’s been your adopted brother for three years?”

“Yep.” The boy had grown quite at ease as he told his story.

“And what about you, Butch? Where are your folks?”

“I ain’t got none. My Ma died when I was born, an’ my old man got killed in a mine when I was seven.”

“Who took care of you?”

“One o’ the men what worked in the mine let me stay with him when he wuzn’t drunk. When he’d git drunk he’d beat me; so me an’ some other kids run away and come here ‘bout four years ago.”

“Haven’t you ever had a job? How do you live?”

“I had a job onct in a grocery store, but – I – got fired. I stole some oranges an’ cookies for Chuckie when the wall fell on him an’ hurt his leg.”

“Didn’t you ever go to the Red Cross or the church for help?”

“Course not.”

“But their work is to help folks in need.

“We got along – till – now – ”

“Butch, I wish you would tell me what you wouldn’t tell the lawyers. Why did you wreck Gary Burke’s car?”

The boy stiffened, and his eyes dropped. Hate burned in his voice when he finally answered.

“When he called me a wop and a dirty rat and yelled at me to git off the road – I – I made up my mind to do something. Why does he come down where we live? It ain’t his road – I — well, I had to do it.”

“You were not alone in this, Butch. We know that. Won’t you tell me who was with you?”

“I ain’t a squealer. It was me that thought of it, and it was mainly me that done it, and I ain’t sorry – only fer Chuckie.”

There was no doubt that the boy’s one vulnerable spot was his love for his little charge. The judge seized upon it.

“Butch, you’ve done a lot for Chuckie, and I know you’d like to do a lot more. I’m going to tell you how you can do it. Tomorrow when I have to give a ruling on your case, will you, for Chuckie’s sake, co-operate in anything I think is for his best good – and for yours?”

There was no reply for a time. The boy rubbed one foot against the leg of his chair. His face seemed to grow old with an unnamed dread. Finally he looked up and asked haltingly, “You wouldn’t ast me never – never to see him agin? Would ya – for fear bein’ with me’d make him bad? Ya wouldn’t ast that, would you, Jedge?”

“No, Butch, we will not ask that.” Thorne’s own voice was husky.

For a time Butch studied the judge’s face as if trying to read his fate. At last he spoke.

“I – I – if it’s for Chuckie – I promise.”

“I assure you, Butch, whatever we do will be for Chuckie’s best good and for yours. Thank you for talking to me. Good night.”

As Judge Thorne drove home, many thoughts crowded his mind. Because of so many recent cases of hoodlumism there was sure to be violent opposition to the plan forming in his mind; to any disposition of the case short of severe punishment for Butch. Public opinion seemed to be demanding that an example be made of him in the hope of deterring others from similar crimes. He realized the many obstacles he would have to combat. One thing was comforting. He could depend on Marian for warm, loyal support. His project would give her something significant to do, and help to keep her from worrying so much about Ted.

It was late before, with Marian’s assistance, he had worked out the details of his plan to provide an anchor for Butch and Chuckie –

He had no feeling of self-pride in the work he was setting out to do. Instead he was humble. He had received a lesson from Butch’s example in following the admonition: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least – ”

He could not let a wayward child of the streets outdo him in mercy and Christian helpfulness.

When court was called to order the next day, the room was packed, despite the fact that Christmas but two days away. Butch’s case had attracted wide attention because of the prominence of the injured boy and the agitation against hoodlumism of which this seemed a typical example.

After a few other cases had been disposed of, Butch was brought in to receive his sentence. A wave of whispering went over the room, but it stopped when the judge arose, and an air of expectancy replaced it.

Judge Thorne looked over the audience. Many of the faces were those of friends and valued acquaintances. Dr. Burke and his brother were there with several associates from the clinic. Some of young Gary’s pals were in one corner. The judge well knew what was expected of him. It was not easy to go counter to their views of justice.

He looked at Butch, slumped in the defendant’s chair. He wondered what was going through the boy’s mind. He wondered if Chuckie, denied admittance to the room because of his age, was shivering outside, waiting the outcome of this session.

Thorne cleared his throat. Then he began in a low voice, which nevertheless carried to the back of the room, “A great poet once wrote:

“The quality of mercy is not strain’d;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throne’d monarch better than his crown …
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself.”

He uttered the lines slowly and distinctly. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a piece of crumpled brown paper. He spread it before him and said, “Yesterday as I was leaving the courthouse with my mind fully made up to pronounce the sentence you all expected me to give in the case before us, this piece of paper was handed me by a little eight-year-old boy who had been waiting for me a long time. On it a few misspelled words are written. These are the words: ‘Jedge pleeze give Butch a nother chancet. Hes mi bruther.’

“I want to tell you a story. Three years ago the boy who wrote that note was left alone in a hobo camp, following a fighting escapade. That boy was found there the next morning by another boy, a few years older, whose mother had died when he was born, whose father was killed in a mine explosion when the boy was five years old. He took the abandoned little fellow to the shack he calls home and has cared for him ever since. He adopted him as his brother, and he loves him as few brothers love one another. He lost the only job he ever had because he stole food for this little ‘brother’ after he had been injured by a falling wall in the shack where they live.

“I wish there were some kind of bank where credit for good deeds could be built up to balance mistakes and bad deeds. If there were such a bank, I am sure the credit side of Butch Moran’s account would still have a balance, even after his recent bad deed had been deducted.

“It is Christmas time. It is the time when we should think of Him who gave his life for the sins of the world. I think we would all have a happier Christmas if we would look around us and find something we can do to show our remembrance of Christ who had such mercy that he died for us. Cannot each of us become some unfortunate brother’s keeper? Can we not help some of the least of God’s children?

“Because of such thoughts as these, stimulated by the act of the boy who sits before me at this moment waiting sentence, and by this note pleading for mercy, I am paroling Butch Moran to Mrs. Thorne and myself. We have prepared a home for Butch and his brother Chuckie and have jobs for them which will keep them from participating in activities such as brought Butch here.

“Mrs. Thorne and I hope that these two boys can help to bring others like themselves, into an environment that will assist them in becoming law-abiding, respected citizens. Perhaps some of you will censure me for what I am doing. Perhaps – some of you would like to help us – with this little project – as a Christmas present to homeless boys, to yourselves – to the Christ whose birth we celebrate.

“Court is dismissed.”

There was a surprised silence for a few seconds. Then a hum of approving voices.

The judge stepped to Butch’s side.

“Shall we find Chuckie and go – home?”

(The End)