moved with them and every eye foilowed them until they disappeared through the entrance into the corridor. In fact, the whole audience continued mutely staring in the same direction until the sound of a closing door reached their ears, when they settled back in their seats again, relieving the tension with a general relaxing rustle and stir.

Even then, however, no one left the court and the silence remained unbroken save for the whispering of Abner Saltus, who had draped himself on the front of the Bench, and, with his eyes on the audience, was addressing his Honor behind a screening hand. From an end seat on the center aisle Old Man Reeve strove to attract his attention for no particular reason except that it always amused him to embarrass the Judge's confidential clerk with a steady stare and make him shift his gaze. But the man continued his conversation undisturbed, and the host of the Reeve House, pulling out his watch, held it so that Eph Bisland, who sat beside him, could note the time. The young farmer compared it with his own watch and nodded.

"That's 'bout right," he whispered. "Three thirty-one by mine. What of it,

Pete?"

"Betcher they'll be back here in less'n fifteen minutes," explained the old man, with a jerk of his thumb toward the jury-room. His companion shook his head.

"Not ef they're as slow at ballotin' as they wuz at leavin' the box," he asserted. The hotel proprietor smiled.

They'd have found a verdict without leavin' it at all ef old Wobble-Belly hadn't herded 'em out of it," he whispered, confidently, but his neighbor was not, apparently, convinced.

"I ain't sure 'bout that, Pete," he drawled. "I ain't either," responded the old man, cheerily. "Nothin's sure 'bout a jury. But I'll make you a sportin' proposition, Eph," he continued, chuckling. "I'll give you a dollar for every minute they stay out after a quarter t' four ef you'll pay me at the same rate for every minute that it's short of that when you see 'em agin."

The young man slowly stroked his chin as he gazed at the veteran's round, goodnatured countenance.

date you. He don't seem to think it's worth his while to wait for 'em."

He bobbed his head toward the counsel's table as he spoke, and the old man, following his glance, observed that Wallace Dunham had risen and was being helped into his fur coat by a youthful clerk. Indeed, it was soon apparent that not only he, but Artemus Peck, the Supply Company's local attorney, and all the plaintiff's other supporters, intended to retire, for they were gathering their books and papers together and otherwise preparing for immediate departure. Their adversaries at the opposite table watched them with evident amusement, and something in Mr. Poinder's expression evidently challenged the Resurrectionist, for he stepped close to him as he drew on his chamois gloves.

"Haven't you had about enough of this parrot's cage, Poinder?" he inquired in a low, patronizing tone. “I'll lend you a clerk to receive the verdict, if you haven't got one." Gedney's counsel smiled provokingly.

"Thank you," he responded in a penetrating drawl, "but I can afford to wait. Don't let me detain you, however. He who fights and runs away may live to fight another day, you know, and that's your best chance of surviving this verdict."

The faint sound of laughter which greeted this sally seemed to anger the metropolitan jurist, for he turned away abruptly.

"I'll leave boy to bring me your scalp," he snapped over his shoulder.

66

Good!" retorted Poinder. "But if he comes no nearer getting it than you have, Dunham, he'll return empty-handed. However, I reckon any boy could do better."

Again the ripple of laughter started, and this time it spread from bench to bench until the whole audience was chuckling, as the Resurrectionist and his retinue made their way toward the door. Then the spectators suddenly relapsed into silence, and the room remained as quiet as a church till a neighboring clock tolled the hour of four, when Judge Kinsley, rising from his chair, retired to his chambers through the door behind the bench.

Instantly a buzz of conversation started, swelling gradually to a perfect babel as the crowd poured forth its pent-up opinions, hopes, and fears concerning the jury and the probable meaning of its delayed return. a time Mr. Gedney and his son held a sort of impromptu reception, in which hand-shaking,

For

congratulations, and good wishes were mingled with head-shaking, well-meant sympathy, and ominous questions, until Mr. Poinder began to look anxiously at the flushed face of his gray-haired client and wonder if he ought not to advise him to return to the hotel. But the moment he suggested this the old gentleman turned on him with a burst of nervous impatience that might have ended in a scene had not Peter Reeve interposed with the comforting laugh which never failed to soothe his old-time friend. Meanwhile, the crowd had been slowly thinning, until by half-past four only a handful of people remained in the room, and, seeing that Mr. Gedney was engaged in conferring with a business friend, the host of the Reeve House motioned his counsel aside.

"What do you make of this, Mr. Poinder?" he whispered. "Think it's a disagreement?" The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you ask me for, Pete?" he replied. "You saw juries in this county before I was much more than born. What do you think it means ?"

The old man glanced apprehensively at Gedney.

"I offered to give Eph Bisland a dollar for every minute they stayed out after a quarter of four," he responded, behind his hand. "That wuz my opinion then. But now-well, it might be an all-night job-or worse."

His companion nodded.

"Can't you persuade him to go back to the hotel?" he inquired, indicating his client. "He's been busy talking and hasn't realized how the time is slipping by; but when he does-"

"When he does he'll worry less right here than he would anywhere else," interrupted Reeve. "I'd like mighty well to stay by him, but you know the house is full er people, and-"

"I understand," assented Poinder. "Just tell Zeb to get the fire lighted in his room and put a flask of brandy where I can find it quickly if he needs it. He's got one? All right; but I've a notion that Kinsley won't keep this shop open much longer, and if he orders a sealed verdict-"

He paused as Old Man Reeve gave a low whistle.

"A sealed verdict?" he repeated. "Gosh! I'd clean forgotten that play. Don't you let him make it, Mr. Poinder. It'd be an outrage to keep Dave in suspense all night."

Mr. Poinder drew a cigar from his pocket and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers.

“I'd rather have a verdict that I couldn't open till to-morrow morning than a disagreement to-night," he reflected. "But orders of that kind are apt to make the jurors agree, and Kinsley isn't as keen about having them agree as I wish he was. Don't you worry about sealed verdicts, Pete."

With a nod and a smile, the host of the Reeve House moved toward the door, opened it, and then paused with his hand on the knob. The daylight was almost gone, and the dismal court was entirely deserted save for the little group shrouded in shadow at the further end. For a moment the old man peered into the gloom with an anxious expression on his usually calm face. "I wonder," he muttered to himself—“ I wonder if that really wuz a flask I felt in Dave's hip pocket.. Never knew him to carry

a gun, but__"}

His fingers slipped from the knob and the door closed with a slam. Mr. Gedney instantly leaped up, staring wildly about him.

"Lights-lights here!" he cried out fiercely. "The jury's coming-the jury's-"

Then he paused, and, glancing from Poinder to his son and across the vacant courtroom, sank slowly into his chair.

"That was funny," he murmured, weakly. "I don't know what-what startled me so. Of course they haven't come in yet. It's early-much too early. Isn't it, Mr. Poinder? You can't expect to have such a big case— such a long case-decided in a minute. Can you, Pete? . . . Oh, has Pete gone? . . .”

Old Man Reeve slipped quietly out of the door, and, closing it softly, confronted the fat court attendant mounting guard on a cane chair at the foot of the little circular iron staircase leading to the jury-room.

"What d' you suppose is the matter with 'em, John?" he inquired, with an upward gesture.

"Reckon they've gone to sleep, Pete," responded the official. "I ain't heard's much as a pin drop since I've been settin' here."

The old man shook some tobacco into his pipe and slowly packed it in with his thumb.

"Humph!" he reflected. "That's a heap better than havin' 'em fightin' like cats and dogs, ain't it? But I kinder thought they wuz goin' to agree quick."

"Me too."

"Well, so long, John." "So long, Pete."

As the storm door closed behind him, Old Man Reeve struck a match and stood lost in thought for some moments, mechanically puffing at his pipe and watching the lights in his hostelry across the village green. Then he shook his head and slowly started down the Court-house steps.

"Ain't quarrelin' or arguing or talkin' at all," he mumbled. "Just one of them settin', starin'-at-one-another, dumb obstinate kindsI know 'em! It's a disagreement, sure."

The lobby of the Reeve House was uncomfortably crowded when supper was announced, for the widely advertised Gedney case had brought a surprising number of visitors to the scene, and the Bar of Fraser County, which usually reigned supreme in the old hotel, for once found itself in the minority. In fact, the charmed circle around the wood-stove included so many strangers that the legal brethren hurried into the dining-room at the first stroke of the bell, and returned after a scanty meal to forestall any further invasion of their rights, with the result that by half-past six they had regained complete possession of their favorite campingground. There was one layman, however, for whom the profession was always ready to make room; and as Old Man Reeve skirted the ring of chairs on his way to answer a telephone call in the office he was bombarded with invitations to sit down and discuss the latest news from the front. But for once in his life the veteran was not sociably inclined, and passed by with a glum Ishake of his head.

"He's taking this case pretty hard," commented Corning, as the old man disappeared. Brundage leaned forward and knocked the ashes out of his pipe by tapping it against the stove.

"If

Why shouldn't he?" he demanded. your best and oldest friend was threatened with ruin, would you feel like cracking jokes or whooping it up much?"

The young man flushed.

"Of course not," he protested. "But there's no danger of Gedney's being beaten. The worst that can happen is a disagreement, and that's always a sort of victory for a defendant."

"Not always," corrected the State's Attorney. "The Supply people have got Gedney ail tied up with this litigation. That's why they've fought so hard to keep him from getting a trial. A disagreement would be as

bad as a defeat for him. His business would be ruined long before he could get another trial, which is a beautiful commentary on the way we administer justice in this land.” The speaker paused, and, answering a signal, tossed his tobacco-pouch into an outstretched hand.

"Now don't let's begin yapping at the evils of the law," yawned Thompson.

"Why not?" demanded Warren. "There are no laymen present. The longer we put up with such practices-"

"Well, those who can't put up with them ought to shut up," retorted Thompson. "There's more room outside the profession, you know, Warren, than there is in it.”

“Tut-tut-tut," laughed Brundage. “We'll have to turn this circle into a prize-ring if everybody's going to pepper his words. Did any of you fellows have the slightest idea that the jury would be out as long as this?" he continued. "I didn't."

"There's no use trying to guess what a jury will do," asserted Plimpton. "A friend of mine had a promissory note case not long ago, in which the jury stayed out for six hours and then returned a verdict of Guilty in the second degree,' whatever that meant."

"Was that in a prohibition town?" laughed Bigelow.

"I can't say it was," replied Plimpton. "But I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the Resurrectionist had got this jury so mixed up with all his motions, exceptions, and requests to charge that they don't know whether to condemn Gedney to death or merely to fine him for being alive."

"Well, he certainly had Kinsley on the run," agreed Foster. "I bet the Hon. Jacob is glad to get a breathing-spell. Did you notice the way Dunham rushed him from the very start, making him rule on some point or other about once a minute and never giving him time to catch his second wind? I never saw a judge as scared and generally wild as he was at the end of the first day."