“I can't say. I don't believe he's guilty.”
“Is there one that you think lied?”
No answer.
“Now it seems to me—” said a third juryman.
“One thing at a time, gentlemen,” said the foreman. “Let us wait for an answer from Mr. Smith. Is there any one that you think lied? We will wait, gentlemen, for an answer.”
There was a long pause. The trial seemed to Eli Smith to have shifted from the court to this shabby room, and he was now the culprit.
All waited for him; all eyes were fixed upon him.
The clock ticked loud! Eli counted the seconds. He knew the determination of the foreman.
The silence became intense.
“I want to say my say,” said a short man in a pea-jacket,—a retired San Francisco pilot, named Eldridge. “I entertain no doubt the man is guilty. At the same time, I allow for differences of opinion. I don't know this man that's voted 'not guilty,' but he seems to be a well-meaning man. I don't know his reasons; probably he don't understand the case. I should like to have the foreman tell the evidence over, so as if he don't see it clear, he can ask questions, and we can explain.”