They faced each other silently. Each knew that the other gave verdict and that it was “guilty.”
“And yet,” said Mr. Summers, “circumstantial evidence is a shaky thing. A very shaky, tricky thing.”
“Yes,” said Sam. But there was no hope in his tone.
“What do you mean to do, Sam?”
“I’ve come to ask you, sir. I’ve a hundred dollars that father gave me. I’d like to give that to Annie Laurie if it would help her out any. But what is a hundred dollars? Why, Mr. Pace had thousands and thousands! And I hear they’re having a terrible hard time altogether—that they can’t get fit helpers, and that Miss Adnah isn’t turning out so good a boss after all, and that the accounts are getting all mixed up. It looks as if the whole thing was going to pieces.”
“It needn’t,” said Mr. Summers rather sharply.
Sam looked up questioningly.
“If they had one good strong, capable helper on the place, say a man who was willing to work for nothing for the time being, a man with sense enough to find out the best ways of feeding cattle and caring for them, and peddling milk, and who wouldn’t mind sitting up after a hard day’s work to straighten out books, and who’d try to build up instead of putting in his best licks tearing down—the way those fool hands they have now seem to be doing—why, there’d be some hope. See?”
Sam got to his feet.
“Do you mean, Mr. Summers, that I—”