happening. It was happening to him.
It was happening right now.
Grantz cocked an ear to a voice from outside the door,
nodded, ground out his cigarette under a heel and said,
"All right, fink. Just remember when they're pulling the
trigger on you, you could have had a friend on the
firing squad." And he opened the door and marched
Chandler out.
Because of the crowd that was attracted by the sensa-
tional nature of the charges against him, they held Chan-
dler's trial in the all-purpose room of the high school. It
smelled of leather and stale sweat.
There was a mob. There must have been three or four
hundred people present. They all looked at him exactly as
the jailer had.
Chandler walked up the three steps to the stage, with
the jailer's hand on his elbow, and took his place at the
defendant's table. His lawyer was there already.
The lawyer, who had been appointed by the court over
his vigorous protests, looked at him without emotion. He
was willing to do his job, but his job didn't require him to
like his client. All he said was, "Stand up. The judge is
coming in."
Chandler got to his feet and leaned on the table while
the bailiff chanted his call and the chaplain read some
verses from John. He did not listen. The Bible verses came
too late to help him, and besides he ached.
When the police arrested him they had not been gentle.
There were four of them. They were from the plant's own
security force and carried no guns. They didn't need any;
Chandler had put up no resistance after the first few
momentsfliat is, he stopped fighting as soon as he could
stopbut the police hadn't stopped. He remembered that
very clearly. He remembered the nightstick across the side
of his head that left his ear squashed and puffy, he
remembered the kick in the gut that still made walking
painful. He even remembered the pounding on his skull
that had knocked him out.
The bruises along his rib cage and left arm, though, he
did not remember getting. Obviously the police had been
mad enough to keep right on subduing him after he was
already unconscious.
Chandler did not blame themexactly. He supposed he
would have done the same thing.
The judge was having a long mumble with the court
stenographer, apparently about something which had hap-
pened in the Union House the night before. Chandler
knew Judge Ellithorp slightly. He did not expect to get a
fair trial. The previous December the judge himself,
while possessed, had smashed the transmitter of the
