Source:Police-court-sketches/content
There must have been a "snake" in a law recently enacted or was the reptile in the tanglefoot consumed last night by one William Hall? Something was radically wrong and an admiring mob seemed to think William would look pretty hanging to a telegraph pole. Officer Matt Gorman came to his rescue and placed him in Central Station, a place where the lynching committee never holds a session.
It was at No. 208 Diamond street, a shooting gallery, that Mr. Hall called last evening. A patron of the establishment had a gun in his hand and was earnestly trying to hit the bull's eye and cop a few five-cent cigars. Hall gazed upon the marksman for a few minutes and then taking out a pair of handcuffs, informed him that he was under arrest.
The astonished patron naturally asked why he was to be taken into custody. Few men care to submit to the bracelets without knowing why.
"It's ag'in the law to shoot in a shootin' gallery?" replied Hall, and without further ado he placed the handcuffs upon the man and led him away. Men who gathered upon the sidewalk indulged in ominous mutterings. They never heard of it being illegal to buy a drink of whisky in a licensed saloon or a loaf of bread in a bakery, and they could not see how it could be a violation of the law to shoot at a mark in a shooting gallery, providing the mark was not a human being. Then everybody decided that Hall was laboring under a delusion emanating from the bottle containing the bonded.
The folks formed themselves into a sort of posse, with the disposition and sentiments of a frontier lynching party, and went in pursuit of Hall. It was true they were not garnished with revolvers, nor did they have the hempen necktie that usually goes with soirees of this kind, but they spoke of lynching and in an audible tone of voice, showing that their sentiments did not blend inharmoniously with the situation.
Officer Matt Gorman heard the vocal sounds that jar in a land of civilization and he saw the crowd. Inquiry led him to follow Hall and his man down Chicken alley. In the meantime the prisoner, who did not want to go to jail, offered Hall some money to let him go. The alleged officer could not withstand the temptation and accepting the coin allowed the stranger to depart, which the gentleman did in great haste. Just then Matt Gorman overtook Hall and placed him under arrest. William informed the copper that he was a constable and said that it was it was against the law to shoot in a shooting gallery. He intimated that he was going to make a test of his case, evidently overlooking the fact that his prisoner had flown.
This morning the defendant informed Magistrate James J. Kirby that he was a constable. "I'm glad to hear it," remarked the court, "and I'll fine you $25, with the option of going to the works for 30 days."
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Took His Own Medicine.
A gentleman, answering to the name of J. E. Schmitt, having soaked his hide with the juice of the still, became possessed of certain ideas, predelections [sic] and conclusions. He thought he was an officer of the law and as such it was his duty to make an arrest. But while trying to put this plan into operation he himself landed in Central.
Mr. Schmitt took one lad into custody but the boy wiggled out of his grasp and escaped. Harry Rappard, who happened to be in the vicinity, was the next victim and just then a regular city policeman grabbed the man, who aspired to put some one in the bastile [sic].
It was learned this morning that Mr. Schmitt was not an officer, but a North Side tonsorialist. Drink has caused him to stray from a line of work in which he was well and favorably known. "I will have to fine you $5," remarked the court, "and I hope you will confine yourself in the future to the whisker whittling profession."
