They all thought in their innocence that Hardie v. Hardie was now at an end. Captain Dodd could prove Alfred's soi-disant illusion to be the simple truth. But Compton thought that this evidence had come too late. “What, may we not get up and say here is papa, and it is all true?” cried Julia indignant.
“No, Miss Dodd; our case is closed. And take my advice: don't subject your father to the agitation of a trial. We can do without him.”
Well then, they would all go as spectators, and pray that justice might prevail.
They did go: and all sat together to hear a matter puzzled over, which had David come one day earlier he would have set at rest for ever.
Dick Absolom was put in to prove that Alfred had put two sovereigns on the stumps for him to bowl if he could; and after him the defendant, Mr. Thomas Hardie, a mild, benevolent, weak gentleman, was put into the box, and swore the boy's father had come to him with story after story of the plaintiff's madness, and the trouble it would get him into, and so he had done for the best. His simplicity was manifest, and Saunders worked it ably. When Colt got hold of him, and badgered him, he showed something more than simplicity. He stuttered, he contradicted himself, he perspired, he all but wept.
Colt.—Are you sure you had no spite against him?
Deft.—No.
Colt.—You are not sure, eh?
This candid interpretation of his words knocked the defendant stupid. He made no reply, but looked utterly flabbergasted.
Colt.—Did he not provoke you? Did he not call you an idiot.