Evening star., 1901-01-12
Experiences Of a Newspaper Man Ar
rested asp V,trant.
CAMETOWASHINGTONoNFREIGHFC CAR
Cell Life as He Found It at Station
and Police Court.
G RAJ HIC XPOS r E S
Written for The Evening Star.

news feature describes incidentally how
Washington. D. c., is guarded in its ap-
proaches these pre-inaugural days.
The hero, or the villain, Is a newspaper
man who last Thursday morning was broke
in Baltimore. This last sentence explains
why he feels in doubt whether he is hero
villain.
All along the line, from the moment the
rowing reporter jumped the moving freight
in the city of sewery streets the rumor was
in the air that the city Of "Washington,
dyer see," was "ieary'' these here days. So
said the two gentlemanly painter who were
giving the road tidy bit Of a weit,' as 1t
were. They entered the side door Pullman
at the first stop from Baltimore, and both
had high hopes of work in Washington.
One had friend here, and seldom were the
good offices of a friend in need banked
higher upon. The second stop was made
twelve miles from Washington.
An ounce of prevention murmured- the
painter with the high forehead extending
far back, lis worth pound of cure"
But the younger painter and the roaming
reporter decided that tweive-mile drill
was not consistent with the prevention
ounce"
Meeting Near Benning.
The friendly "braky' said that Benning
Park was the proper place to jump. Just
opposite the park gates the train slowed
somewhat.
Thud! PUNK! PUNK! Three men jumped
in rapid succession. Then all breathed
freely and crossed over to the trolley tracks
that led intoward McKinleyville from the
race track. There doomed up a horseman,
almost colossal! The three soldiers Of for
tune were about to pass unconcernediy, but
twas not to be-
The horseman nodded under his white
rain-bespa ttered helmet, incidentally FUN
bling with something under his great rub
ber cloak.
Come out here on the road" said he.
Move over to that path on the side!"
Are we to consider ourselves under ar
rest?" asked the painter ii.
"Oh. yes'-as If surprised mildly at the
query. Along the roadside, casually through
yellow mud, the three citizens oozed their
way,
This is pretty hard luck remarked the
bald-headed painter
1--WE have to look over every one who
comes into Washington. these days." said
the gigantic horseman -
A turn was madelto the left, and at the
little railroad crossing the halt was made
The afternoon had half passed away and
the leaden rain was descending with
splashes of occasional misery.
One POliceman's PersifaEe.
Hello. BILL yelled another officer. what
yer got-rest Of CoSey's army?" He was
large and feshy, with a full-blooded face.
Beneath his comfortable rubber coat and
cloak his uniform fitted like well-made
sausage. He was q fine-looking animal
one whose full red lips suggested the liking
of good meal or a. superiors praise.
Neither of the three men, all, of whom
were neatly attired5 answered The mount
ed man galloped along the street ito the tel
ephone.- An hour later the covered van ap-
preached. Explanations were Of no use.
The full-lipped officer expressed the hope
that there would he her pOOd 1Oud fCr
the wagon on the arrival Of o'clock
freight.
Besides the three travellers mentioned,
three others appeared. One was lumor-
yet using the curt expressions Of youns
fellow. He said his name was Barney
Fagan and his birthplace Ireland.
The others were young fellows. One was
born abroad, the other an American They
had been "copped'' on the morning freight.
A long, dreary, secluded ride brought the
party to the house of the fifth precinct
police.
DrOll Fellows at the Fifth.
What droll fellows the police of the sta
ton were! A fellow of infinite jest was the
lieutenant who booked the visitors.
Your name?' he asked the reporter.
"Age?" 1t was given.
"Occupation?" Newspaper reporter"
How funny the reply seemed to the whole
souled "lieut!'
A hearty laugh all round. Then, with re-
turning seriousness. the genial fellows
promised to phone message to promi-
nent newspaper man, and away all wended
to the dungeons. In the party was the re-
porter, aged tWenty-Six, an American the
two painters, Americans; Mr.. Pagan (prob-
ably an assumed name); young fellow of
German birth whose name, ending In ski,
bespoke Polish ancestry, and the sixth
member, an American, whose ancestry.
judging from his name, was probably Eng
lish. He and the writer were paired off.
the two painters were given cell together
and Mr. Pagan" and Mr.. "Ski' became
room mates.
The fourteen hours that followed were
among the dreariest in young mans
| career. Not until late in the evening did
the writer give up hope that the journalist
who could identify him would appear. 1t
was burly, frank-faced officer who broke
the facts.
"I'n give 1t to you straight" said he
"Nobody's goin to send for your prominent
| friend tonight If you know him and he
knows who you are and that yer all right
| you wouldn't stay here four seconds
A Night in Cell.
| About o'clock supper was served. A
| negro carrying a basket containing a plate
| of potatoes and frankfurters for each man,
as we'll as bread and coffee, passed around.
"In my opinion" said great Massachu-
setts criminal lawyer once to the reporter,
| mo man should ever be appointed police
| court judge who has not some time pre-
vious experienced personally the demon of
drink" 1t is the reporters opinion that no
man should write pointedly of criminals
until he has been locked up for a night in
cell. The inside, Of the writer's apart
ment was whitewashed. There was but one
piece Of furniture-a plank about eight feet
long.
The cell was about fourteen feet wide.
If one looked at the great iron-barred
door, ever percipient, and thought, the
feeling resulting was enough to overcome a
sensitive man. The jovial roommate
stretched out semi-contentedly after eat
| ing. The writer tried to read copy of a
| morning paper. The merry Mr.. Pagan
| saved all from the misery Of thought. Two
| cells away he remarked:
"What state are we in now?"
This place where the station is is in
| the District of Columbia, the United States
| territory" said the painter.
| "Well,'' replied the iIrishman, after a
| weighty pause IT must say 1 think less of
the United States thaniI ever did before
No one could resist his brogue and his at
One of the painters-the younger chap
sang asking Pliny to come and kiss her
baby-kiss him good and fine. Then each
told a story or sang The reporter in his
| turn remembered two songs he used to dc
stunts with in amateur minstrel days, and
| rendered THE Palms with some trepidation
| ho co1ocfiOn q frif o,rtro