“And heir,” said Sampson curtly. “I inherited my job, if that's what you are trying to get at. And it is more or less of an honorary position, if that will help you any. I am president of the company because I happen to own all but five shares of the capital stock, and not because I really want to hold, or because I am in any sense competent to fill the office. Now you know all that there is to know about my connection with the company.”
“Thanks,” said the assistant district attorney, drily. “And now, Mr. Sampson, could you sit as a juror in this case and give, on your honour as a man, despite a very natural sympathy that may be aroused for this aged defendant, a verdict in favour of the State if it is proved to you beyond all doubt that he is guilty as charged?”
There was but one answer that Sampson could give. He felt exceedingly sorry for himself. “Yes.” Then he made haste to qualify: “Provided, as I said before, that there are no extenuating circumstances.”
“But you would not deliberately discharge a guilty man just because you happened to feel sorry for him, would you? We, as individuals, are all sorry for the person we are obliged to punish, Mr. Sampson. But the law is never sorry. The mere fact that one man disregards the law is no reason why the rest of us should do the same, is it?”
“Of course not,” said Sampson, feeling himself in a trap.
“The State asks no more of you than you would, as a citizen, ask of the State, Mr. Sampson. The fact that this defendant, after five years, voluntarily surrendered himself to the authorities—would that have any effect on your feelings?”
“Yes, it would. I should certainly take that into consideration. As a citizen, I could not ask more of any man than that he surrender himself to my State if it couldn't catch him.”
The Court tapped with his pencil, and a raucous voice from somewhere called for order.
“Are you a married man, Mr. Sampson?”
“I am not.”