“Timothy Forbes!”
A stocky man with a small shrewd eye and a reddish moustache wormed his way forward.
“Number 1! Take your seat in the box.”
“Will it take long?” asked the red-headed girl.
“Alexander Petty!”
“Not at this rate,” replied the reporter, watching the progress toward the jury box of a tow-headed little man with steel-bowed spectacles and a suit a little shiny at the elbows.
“This is going to be just as rapid as the law allows, I understand. Both sides are rarin’ to go, and they’re not liable to touch their peremptory challenges; and they’re not likely to challenge for cause, either, unless it’s a darned good cause.”
“Eliphalet Slocum!”
A keen-faced elderly man with a mouth like a steel trap joined the men in the box.
“It’s a special panel that they’re choosing from,” explained the reporter, lowering his voice cautiously as Judge Carver glanced ominously in his direction. “Redfield’s pretty up and coming for a place of its size. All the obviously undesirables are weeded out, so it saves an enormous amount of time.”