"Well, they did, didn't they?" Edward asked, as Mr. Beecher stopped.
"Nine did," he replied. "Yes; nine did. But three didn't. Three thought—" Mr. Beecher stopped and did not finish the sentence. "But nine did," he repeated. "Nine to three it stood. That was the decision, and then the judge discharged the jury," he said.
There was naturally one question in the boyish mind to ask the man before him—one question! Yet, instinctively, something within him made him hesitate to ask that question. But at last his curiosity got the better of the still, small voice of judgment.
"And, Mr. Beecher—" the boy began.
But Mr. Beecher knew! He knew what was at the end of the tongue, looked clear into the boy's mind; and Edward can still see him lift that fine head and look into his eyes, as he said, slowly and clearly:
"And the decision of the nine was in exact accord with the facts."
He had divined the question!
As the two rose from the floor that night Edward looked at the clock. It was past midnight; Mr. Beecher had talked for two hours; the boy had spoken hardly at all.
As the boy was going out, he turned to Mr. Beecher sitting thoughtfully in his chair.
"Good night, Mr. Beecher," he said.