Jim was called to the bar, the jury sworn, and Dockbridge, with several innuendoes reflecting upon the moral character of any man who would confess himself a criminal and yet put the county to the expense and trouble of a trial, briefly opened the case.
The stenographer who had taken Jim's confession was the first witness. He read his notes in full, while Dockbridge nodded with an air of finality in the direction of the jury.
"Do you care to cross-examine, Mr. Crookshanks?" he inquired.
The lawyer shook his head.
Jim sat smiling, self-possessed, and silent.
The youthful Assistant, still hoping to wring a plea from the defendant, paused and leaned toward the prisoner's counsel.
"Come, come, what's the use?" he suggested benignantly. "Why go through all this farce? Let him plead guilty to 'robbery in the second degree.' He'll be lucky to get that! It's his only chance."
But upon the lean and withered visage of the veteran Crookshanks flickered an inscrutable smile, like that which played upon the features of his client.
"Not on your tin-type!" he ejaculated.
Dockbridge shrugged his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then glanced a trifle uneasily toward the crowd of spectators. Once more he turned in the direction of the prisoner.