Slowly, and in that wonderfully low, mellow voice that so many knew and loved, step by step, came the unfolding of that remarkable story. Once or twice only did the voice halt, as when, after he had explained the basis of the famous suit, he said:
"Those were the charges. That is what it was all about."
Then he looked at Edward and asked: "Do you know just what such charges mean?"
"I think I do," Edward replied, and the question was asked with such feeling, and the answer was said so mechanically, that Mr. Beecher replied simply: "Perhaps."
"Well," he continued, "the suit was a 'long one,' as you said. For days and weeks, yes, for months, it went on, from January to July, and those were very full days: full of so many things that you would hardly understand."
And then he told the boy as much of the days in court as he thought he would understand, and how the lawyers worked and worked, in court all day, and up half the night, preparing for the next day. "Mostly around that little table there," he said, pointing to a white, marble-topped table against which the boy was leaning, and which now stands in Edward Bok's study.
"Finally the end came," he said, "after—well, months. To some it seemed years," said Mr. Beecher, and his eyes looked tired.
"Well," he continued, "the case went to the jury: the men, you know, who had to decide. There were twelve of them."
"Was it necessary that all twelve should think alike?" asked the boy.
"That was what was hoped, my boy," said Mr. Beecher—"that was what was hoped," he repeated.