HE GOES TO COURT

"You- you think it looks like me!" He exclaimed. "That it could be my. . . father."

"Yes, Jon, I do. It would almost have yo be. And being what he is, I'm almost sure I know what he's doing this very minute. . . he's moving Heaven and Earth to get that door thing repaired so he can find you."

Thomas snapped his fingers. "Of course! Jon's here by accident. . . and if the door were usable, he'd have been found before he left the cave. There's been no change in the place, so it means the thing hasn't been repaired yet."

Suddenly Mary asked, Jon, can you write in your language?"

"I don't know. I haven't tried."

"Try it now. It's important. If your people came looking for you, they wouldn't know what had become of you. . . unless you left a message in the cave."

"But if they are like I am," he told her, "they would only have to call, and I'm sure I would hear them, even miles away. Still, if I were asleep. . ."

He sat down at the table with paper and pencil and tried to remember symbols that might stand for thoughts. He doodled and made marks on the paper, but they were not marks with meaning.

"I'm afraid I've forgotten how," he said.

"But you must know your language," Mary insisted. "Remember the little song you sang the other day?"

*I remember that, but I can't put it on paper. Do you suppose if I learn to write your language, that it would help bring back the other? Brooks was showing me the alphabet the other night, I can print that already. Maybe if you'll show me how to make words with it. . ."

The writing lesson was interrupted by the telephone and later by the return of the reporter.

Little Jon his in the front bedroom while Thomas spoke to the man. The reporter was not easily turned away this time.

"Mr. Bean," he said stubbornly, "you ought to be glad to get a little free publicity. It'll help business. You'd be surprised at the people who'll come out to your Rock shop to. . ."

"I'm quite aware of it," said Thomas, "and I don't want it. Mrs. Bean has already told you about the boy. I can't help these crazy tales that are going around, but I'd Advise you to be very careful what you print."

"But at least you can let me take a picture of him, Mr. Bean. I know there's nothing in the tales, and I'd soft-pedal all that. But he's news, and I could do a nice little human-interest story that would help you a lot here."

"Sorry," said Thomas, showing him the door. "No pictures, please."

"Okay. But there'll be plenty of pictures taken when Monday comes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mr. Bean, it's already common knowledge that the boy's a juvenile delinquency case. Of course, were not allowed to print anything like that, but the wild boy angle is something else entirely. You can't stop news, Mr. Bean. . . and that boy is NEWS. I'll see you on Monday."

It was five days till Monday, not long, and Little Jon dreaded it more each day. The phone rang almost constantly at first. Cars filled with Curious people began to creep along the road. To escape prying neighbors, and the probability of more reporters, he and Thomas spent long hours at the cave.

None of this helped his memory.

When Monday finally came, Thomas and Mary took him to the courthouse in the center of town and tried unsuccessfully to slip through the rear entrance without being noticed. A lurking photographer spotted them. Suddenly two cameras were flashing, and they were surrounded by a small crowd of ogling townspeople. Thomas thrust through into the hall, where they were rescued by a policeman.

"In Yonder, Mr. Bean," said the policeman, pointing to a door. "Back, everybody! You know these hearings are private."

"Hey, Mr. Bean," a man called, "can that kid really jump a hundred feet?"

The door closed behind them, shutting out the racket. Thomas, Little Jon saw, had timed their arrival carefully. The others were all present, sitting in a semicircle of newly varnished chairs facing a desk. The small room seemed overflowing with eight other people besides Thomas and Mary, he could feel every eye upon him.

Angus Macklin and his boys were sitting over on the left. Angus Was smiling, and Tip and Lenny looked stubbornly defiant. Gilby and Emma Pitts were behind them. Anderson Bush, his hands full of papers, was talking in a low voice to a large, square faced woman in the corner. Right next to the woman was a long-nosed man in oval glasses. The man seemed aloof and officious as he sat there.

Little Jon glanced uneasily at the squared face woman Talking to Anderson Bush. She kept staring at him as if he were something unpleasant. Mary whispered, "That's Mrs. Groome. She's the one in charge of Welfare. The man next to her is Mr. McFee, the probation Officer."

The door on the Other side of the desk opened and a Respectful hush fell over the room bestowing the whole place with a solemn silence. Judge Cunningham entered. She was small, gray and precise. There was no nonsense about her, but behind her quiet, thoughtful eyes, Little Jon sensed all the qualities of a friend.

As she took her seat, she smiled quickly at Thomas and Mary. "I've been wanting to visit the Rock shop again, Thomas, but I haven't had time lately."

Thomas was already on his feet. "Miss Josie,"he said, thrusting a folded sheet of paper across her desk, "before this thing gets any more out of hand, there are some points that I feel you- and you alone- should know about. I've jotted them down here."

"Thank you, Thomas." Judge Cunningham smoothed the paper out on her desk and quietly surveyed the room.

"Why are you here, Gilby?"

Gilby Pitts gave a nervous twitch of his high shoulder. "Me an' Emma are witnesses, Miss Josie. I got Charge of Dr. Holliday's place where all them things was stolen. An' we seen that wild boy yonder when he. . ."

"That's enough, Gilby!" The judge's voice had the sting of a whip. "You'll not use that expression in this room. If you are asked anything, you'll stick to the facts, and facts only, and you'll not repeat them when you leave here."