“Oh, I agree entirely,” Agatha said.
“Well, I’ll be squandering it on a husband, if one will have me after five years at the state home,” Esther said.
“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble,” Minnie said.
“Even the feeble-minded are marriageable with ten thousand dollars on offer,” Agatha said.
“Feeble-minded! Don’t call her that!” said Minnie.
Agatha wiped down the last of her pots and said, “Oh, that’s the name they put on you. You’ll find out, after you’re here for good. There’s a man who comes around and interviews you. We know all the questions and the best way to answer, so you won’t have any trouble.”
“Well, I suppose Esther had some trouble, if she was called feeble-minded.”
“Oh, no,” Esther put in. “Feeble-minded is the best one. Below that is lunatic, imbecile, and idiot.” She struck a pose, as if making a dramatic recitation. “The feeble-minded girl is marked by glibness of tongue, a bold and confident manner, and an attractive physical appearance. She has the passions of a grown woman and an experience of the life of the underworld.”
“Well, that sounds—like a very clever girl,” Minnie said, to agreeable laughter from the others. “You seem to know quite a bit about it.”
Esther wiped her eyes and walked across the kitchen to whisper, “I stole his little book and copied down the best parts so we could all learn them. I’ll give you the questions. As long as you answer them correctly, he’ll put you down as feeble-minded. If you’re at all worried that he won’t, just remind him that you have the passions of a grown woman. He’s quite susceptible to persuasion.”
“Then he’s the feeble one,” Minnie said. “Do you serve less time if you’re feeble-minded?”
Agatha and Esther looked over at each other, calculating. “I don’t think so,” Esther said at last. “But you won’t get sent to the lunatic asylum or to the industrial school. That’s where they put the imbeciles, so they can be trained for a lifetime of pasting cardboard boxes together. And you know they give them an operation so they can’t have babies.”
“No!” Minnie gasped.
“Of course,” Esther said. “They don’t want another generation of idiots and imbeciles. It runs in families, apparently. Be very careful not to say anything about your relations that might raise suspicion. Don’t mention drunkenness, laziness, unexplained deaths, spinsters, anything like that.”
“My mother died when I was young, and I was never told the cause,” Minnie said.
“Invent something blameless,” Agatha said. “Could she have been trampled by a horse or thrown from a train?”
“Agatha!” Esther called. “That’s awful.”
“I’ll think of something,” Minnie muttered.
They worked in silence for a minute. Minnie hoped very much that no one would ask her father and stepmother about her. Mrs. Davis never hesitated to say that Minnie and Goldie were bad girls, through and through. How might she elaborate on that, if given the chance? Minnie could quite easily imagine Edith Davis fabricating all sorts of lies and nonsense about her, her sister, and her mother, and Mr. Davis nodding grimly along.
Five years in a reformatory was bad enough. A lifetime in a box factory—and an operation—that was something she’d never imagined.
“What happens when you go to court?” she ventured to ask at last.
“Oh, it all depends upon who’s going to speak for you,” Agatha said. “What are your parents going to say?”
“They won’t be there,” Minnie said quickly, and very much hoped she was right.
“Have you any kindly schoolteachers or sympathetic aunts?”
“None.” She said this boldly, as if it were a badge of honor. That won a laugh from the other two, and Agatha’s line of questioning became a game.
“Then what about a softhearted shopkeeper or a compassionate clergyman?”
“I haven’t any of those, either.”
Esther joined in. “Perhaps a lenient landlady?”
“The very opposite,” Minnie said.
“Then what about a sweet-tempered supervisor,” Agatha said, straining for another alliteration, “or . . . or a merciful matron?”
“Merciful matron!” Esther cried out. “Are there any of those?”
Minnie thought about Deputy Kopp and wondered how merciful she could be after what Minnie had confessed. They’d parted in such a hurry that she couldn’t begin to guess as to Constance’s state of mind.
“I might know one,” Minnie said, “but I haven’t given her any reason to be merciful.”
“Jail matrons can’t do anything for you anyway,” Agatha said.
“Oh, but this one can,” Minnie insisted. “She helped a girl go free just before I was arrested. Just an ordinary factory girl. She told the judge that the charges were baseless, and he believed her.”
Agatha and Esther both turned and looked at her thoughtfully.
“Are you sure?” Esther said.
“She told me herself,” Minnie said.
“Then you’d best go to work on that matron,” said Agatha.
37
GIRL SHERIFF’S GOLD BADGE
Constance Kopp Also Has Gold-Plated Handcuffs and a Title
HACKENSACK, N.J.—Miss Constance Kopp, who has been detecting things ever since she aided in convicting Henry J. Kaufman, a Paterson silk dyer, of sending threatening letters to her in 1914, has been rewarded by Sheriff Robert N. Heath, whose unofficial assistant she has been, with a gold-plated badge, a gold-plated pair of handcuffs, and the title of Under Sheriff. Henceforth Miss Kopp can prove that she’s an honest-to-goodness detective.
Her last feat was to obtain a confession from Miss Minnie Davis of Catskill, N.Y., whose charges have resulted in the arrest of young Anthony Leo of Fort Lee, and nearly a dozen of his friends, the former on a white slavery charge. County Detective John Courter and Chief of Police Patrick Hartnell of Fort Lee discovered Miss Davis’ plight and rescued her from a house in Fort Lee where she said she was detained against her will.
Now Miss Kopp wears the badge and carries her handsome handcuffs in her handbag.
“I’d like to see those gold-plated handcuffs,” Constance said.
“So would I,” said Sheriff Heath. “This isn’t Miss Hart’s story, is it?”
“Of course not. It isn’t her paper, anyway. This must be someone who was at the press conference. What sort of confession do they think I’ve obtained?” Constance said.
“I’d like to know about the dozen white slavery suspects they’ve arrested, as we don’t seem to have them upstairs. But they spelled John Courter’s name right, and that’s all that matters to him.” Sheriff Heath leaned back in his chair. “What happened at the bakery?”
“The landlord didn’t see a thing. Tony’s brother had been over, that’s all. They got into some sort of a fight and the brother ran off. I don’t think the landlord’s going to testify.”
“You’re making it difficult for Detective Courter.”
“He doesn’t have a case. He should let them both go.”