Cat curled up on floor.]
V
The day of the assembling of the grand jury for the September termof the Adams County court finally dawned. How Mr. Peaslee had lookedforward to that day! How often had he pictured the scene--the bustleabout the court house; the agreeable crowd of black-coated lawyers,with their clever talk, their good stories; the grave judge, and thestill graver side judges; the greetings and hand-shakings amid muchjoking and laughter; the county gossip among the grand jurors in theinformal moments before they filed into the courtroom to be swornand to receive the judge's charge; himself, finally, in his bestblack coat and cherished beaver hat, there in the midst ofit--important, weighty, respected, a public man!
He had cherished the vision of himself walking up the village streeton that first morning, a dignitary returning the cordial andadmiring salutes of his village friends. He had seen himself laterin the jury-room, shrewdly "leading" the reluctant witness,delivering weighty opinions on the bearing of testimony, and makingall respect him as a marvel of conservatism, dignity, and wisdom.This was to be one of the most important and pleasurable days of hislife, the rung in a ladder of preferment which reached as high asthe state-house dome!
And when that day came, it rained; steadily, gloomily, fiercelyrained. Solomon was not allowed to wear his best clothes. When,peering out of the window, he hopefully said he "guessed mebbe 'twas goin' to clear," his wife invited him tartly to "wait till itdid."
She insisted that he put on his every-day clothes, and thus arrayed,and without meeting a single villager to realize the importance ofhis errand, he waded up to the court house, the pelting rainrattling on his old umbrella, the fierce wind almost wrenching itinside out.
There was, of course, no parade on the courthouse steps for thebenefit of a wondering village, as there would have been had the daybeen fine. Instead, the men, steaming with wet, stood aboutuncomfortably in the corridors, muddy with the mud from their feet,wet with the drip from their umbrellas. The air in the court housewas close, and every one felt uncomfortable and depressed.
Mr. Peaslee, having greeted three or four men whom he knew, foundhimself jammed into a corner behind four or five jurors who werestrangers to him, but he was too disheartened to try to scrapeacquaintance with them. He felt lonely and helpless.
He looked enviously over to the other end of the corridor, whereFred Farnsworth, Eben Sampson, and Albion Small were standingtogether. In contrast with the others, these men were laughing.Albion was "consid'able of a joker," Mr. Peaslee reflected gloomily.
Then old Abijah Keith stormed in, and in his high, shrill voicebegan immediately to utter his unfavorable opinion of everything andeverybody.
"Well, if he ain't here again!" exclaimed, in disgust, HiramHopkins, one of the men in front of Solomon. "Cantankerest oldlummux in the whole state--just lots on upsetting things. Abijah!"he snorted. "Can't Abijah, I call him!"
Mr. Peaslee shrank back into his corner nervously. He knew this oldtyrant and dreaded him.
Not much was done that first day. The clerk swore them; the judgecharged them, and appointed the sensible, steady Sampson foreman.Then they retired to the jury-room--a big, desolate place, whereinwas a long, ink-spattered table surrounded by wooden armchairs andspittoons. The grand jurors seated themselves, and were solemnlysilent while John Paige, the state's attorney, began the dull taskof presenting cases. Mr. Peaslee found that he had nothing brilliantto say.
As a matter of fact, his own troubles were making him see everythingyellow. The jurymen did not seem to him as agreeable a lot as he hadexpected, and as for Paige, he irritated Solomon beyond measure.
Paige was an able young man and a good lawyer, and was entitled tothe position which he had attained so young; but, the son of a manof rather exceptional means, he had been educated at a city college,and had a sophistication which Solomon viewed with deep suspicion.Moreover, he discarded the garb which Mr. Peaslee regarded assacred. He was not in black. Instead, he wore a light gray businesssuit, his collar was very knowing in cut, and his cravat of darkblue was caught with a gold pin.
"Citified smart Aleck," was Mr. Peaslee's characterization. To tellthe truth, he mistrusted the man's ability, and was afraid of him.If that fellow knew, Mr. Peaslee felt that it would go hard withhim. Generally, Paige was popular.
Solomon had, of course, been painfully awake to every hint andintimation in regard to Jim's case. He had seen Jake Hibbard, thatcarrion crow of the law, loafing about the corridors, and the sighthad made him shiver. He had next heard that Jim's case would bequickly called,--probably on the next day,--news producing a complexemotion, the elements of which he could not distinguish.Furthermore, a remark or so which he overheard indicated that theout-of-town men were inclined to take a harsh view of the matter.And reflecting on all these things, he paddled home through thedepressing wet.
And the next day it rained.
More and more perturbed, as the climax approached, Mr. Peaslee tookhis place in the jury-room, and sat there with unhearing ears. Hesat and thought and delivered battle with his conscience, which wasgrowing painfully vigorous and aggressive. But, after all, perhapsthey would not find a true bill, and then Jim would go free, and hecould breathe again. Mr. Peaslee clung to the hope, and hugged it.It was the one thing which gave him courage.
"Gentlemen of the grand jury," suddenly he heard Paige saying, "thenext case for you to consider is that of James Edwards, agedfifteen, of Ellmington, charged with assault, with intent to kill,upon one Peter Lamoury, also of Ellmington."
And he proceeded to read the complaint, which, in spite of themonotonous rapidity with which he rattled it off, scared Mr. Peasleebadly with its solemn-sounding legal phraseology.
"Gentlemen," said Paige, laying down the paper, "there was noeyewitness to the actual assault; and only three people have anypersonal knowledge of the event--Mr. Edwards, the defendant'sfather, the accused himself, and the complainant. Mr. Lamoury, hiscounsel tells me, is in no condition to appear. But I have here,"lifting a paper, "his affidavit, properly executed, giving hisversion of the matter. The boy's father, however, is at hand.Probably the jury would like to question him."
"It seems to me," said Mr. Sampson, "that Mr. Edwards would bepretty apt to know the rights of it, if he's willing to talk. Iguess we'd better hear him."
The state's attorney stepped to the door.
"This way, please!" he called, and Mr. Edwards entered the room.
Farnsworth and Peaslee both studied the man's face closely,although for very different reasons, and both found it sternlyuncompromising.
"Please take a chair, Mr. Edwards," said Paige, and in a swiftglance rapidly estimated the man. "Here's some one who won't lie,"he thought, impressed.
"Now," he resumed, "will you kindly tell the members of the grandjury what you know of the case?"
Mr. Edwards cleared his throat painfully. Determined as he was tolet his rebellious boy take whatever punishment his mistaken coursemight bring, he now began to wish that the punishment would belight. His confidence that Jim needed only to be pushed a little toconfess was somewhat shaken, and the charge was really serious. Hefelt a desire to explain, to palliate, to minimize.
"Gentlemen," he said, "my boy's always been a good boy. I can'tbelieve that he meant to hurt Lamoury or any one else. It must havebeen some accident--"
"Facts, please," said Paige, crisply.
Mr. Peaslee caught his breath indignantly. He had been entirely insympathy with Mr. Edwards's soft mode of approaching his story.Paige seemed to him unfeeling.
"I will answer any questions," said Mr. Edwards, stiffening.
"Did you hear any shot fired?" began Paige.
"Yes."
"Where were you?"
"I was asleep in the room above Jim's."
"Was Jim in his room?"
"I suppose so."
"You suppose so. Don't you know?"
"No, I don't know."
"But to the best of your knowledge and belief he w
as there?"
"Yes."
"And the shot waked you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do on hearing the shot?"
"I jumped to the window."
"Tell what you saw, please."
"I saw a man fall in the orchard, and hurried out to see if he washurt. But he was gone when I got there."
"Then what?"
"I went to speak to Jim."
"He was in his room, then, immediately after the shot?"
"Yes."
"Ah! And when you spoke to him, did he admit firing the shot?"
"No."
"Did he deny it?"
"Yes."
"Where was his gun?"
"In the rack over the mantel."
"In the rack over the mantel," repeated Paige, slowly, glancing atthe jurors. "Did you examine it?"
"Yes."
"What was its condition? Did it show that it had been fired?"
"No; it was clean."
"It was clean," repeated Paige. "I understand that it was adouble-barreled, muzzle-loading shotgun. Were there any rags about?"
"Yes."
"Where were they?"
"One was in the ashes of the fireplace."
"Look as if some one had tried to hide it?"
"Yes"--reluctantly.
"If it was that sort of gun, there must have been a shot-pouch andpowder-flask. Where were they?"
"In the drawer where Jim keeps them."
"Everything looked, then, as if no shot had been fired?"
"Yes."
"Was there any one besides yourself and your son in the house?"
"No."
"Your housekeeper?"
"She had stepped out."
"To the best of your knowledge, then, there was no one about to firethe shot except your son?"
"No."
"That will do," said Paige, with an accent of finality. "That is,"he added, with the air of one who observes a courteous form, "unlesssome of the grand jurors wish to ask a question."
There were various things which were new to Mr. Peaslee in thistestimony. He had supposed that Jim had been picked as the guiltyperson by a process of mere exclusion; he had had no idea that thecase against him was so strong. How had the boy got to the room sosoon after he himself had left, and why had he gone there? And why,why had he cleaned the shotgun? The grand jury must believe in hisguilt. And when the case came to trial, what could Jim say to clearhimself? It was going hard, hard with the boy.
Mr. Peaslee's mouth grew dry, his palms moist; he moved uneasily inhis chair. Once or twice he felt sure that the next instant he wouldfind himself on his feet, but the minutes passed and he still wasseated.
And Farnsworth, anxious, for the sake of his betrothed, Miss Ware,to help Jim, was nonplussed. There were two possible explanationsof Jim's cleaning the gun, if he did clean it: the first, that Jimwas protecting himself; the second, that he was shielding some oneelse.
But the second theory seemed quite untenable. Farnsworth had madesome cautious but well-directed inquiries about Mr. Edwards, and hadsatisfied himself that the rumors about his smuggling were nothingbut malicious gossip. There was not a man of greater honesty in thestate. The boy must have done the shooting. Miss Ware would have togive it up. Still, he would hazard a question.
"Mr. Edwards," he said, "Lamoury worked for you once, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"You quarreled, didn't you?"
"I discharged him for intemperance."
"There was no bad blood?"
"Lamoury was angry, I believe."
Farnsworth stopped; there was nothing to be gained by this course ofquestioning in the way of clearing Jim. Of course later, the pointthat Lamoury had a grudge against the family might have importance,although he could not see just how. Some one else surely heard thatgunshot. It was incredible that the neighborhood should be sodeserted. If only there were another witness!
The other jurors had no questions. They were, to tell the truth, alittle impatient. It was near the dinner-hour, and they were hungry.The case seemed perfectly plain to them. It was not likely, theyargued, that the boy's father could be mistaken.
"You may go," said Paige to Mr. Edwards.
"I don't see," he began, when the witness had left the room, "anyneed for our going further into this case. Whatever we may think ofthe animus of the complainant,--I take it that was what you wishedto bring out, Mr. Farnsworth,--there seems to be no question butthat the boy fired the shot. The presumption seems strong also thathe intended to hit. Were there any accident or any good excuse, theboy could, of course, have no motive not to tell it. I suggest thata true bill be found at once, and that we proceed to more importantmatters. I want to remind you that we have a great deal of workbefore us."
"Well, gentlemen," said Sampson, "I guess we're pretty much of amind about this. If no one has any objections, I guess we'll call ita vote." He looked round.
"As we're all agreed--" he began.
"Just a moment, Sampson!" suddenly exclaimed Farnsworth. It had justthen flashed over him that Mr. Peaslee, the kind Mr. Peaslee, whogave Jim knives and harmonicas, was next-door neighbor to theEdwardses. If he had been at home when the shot was fired, he musthave heard it, and he might have seen some significant thing whichquestioning might bring out. Of course, if Peaslee had seenanything, he would have spoken, but he might have overlooked theimportance of some fact or other.
"Just a moment, Sampson!" he said, and put up his hand. Then heswung sharply in his chair and put the question:--
"Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?"