The reply by the assistant to the prosecutor was perfunctory and ineffective. The charge of the judge was neutral. The jury left the room, and were out eight and one-quarter minutes. As they filed in, the foreman sent a triumphant telepathic message to David before he quietly drawled out:
The first movement was from Mrs. Miggs. And she came straight to David, not to the jury.
“David,” said the Judge, who had cleared his throat desperately and wiped his glasses carefully, at the look in the eyes of the young lawyer when they had rested on the defendant’s wife, “hereafter our office will be the refuge for all the riffraff in the country.”
This was his only comment, but the Judge did not hesitate to turn over any case to him thereafter.
When David had added a few more victories to his first one, Jud made one of his periodical diversions by an offense against the law which was far more serious in nature than his previous misdeeds had been. M’ri came out to the farm to discuss the matter.
“Barnabas, Martin thinks you had better let the law take its course this time. He says it’s the only procedure left untried to reform Jud. He is sure he can get a light sentence for him––two years.”
“M’ri,” said Barnabas, in a voice vibrating 158 with reproach, “do you want Jud to go to prison?”
M’ri paled.
“I want to do what is best for him, Barnabas. Martin thinks it will be a salutary lesson.”