"On the main point," said the captain, "the court had its mind made up when I came out. This marryin' has got to be did. Who's to do it is what they're figgerin' on!"
"Captain Winfield," said I, "if the public interests require it, if my constituents demand it, I will make the sacrifice! Doctor Johnson said that marriages might well be arranged by the Lord Chancellor, and Judge Worthington is now sitting in chancery. I will marry the defendant, pro bono publico!"
"Oc," said the captain, in a properly serious manner, though some tittered, "you're a livin' marvel! I'll go back and report."
Almost immediately, as my heart-beats stifled me, they emerged from the chambers. My mother was in tears. Worthington bore Miss Frayn on his arm, and both looked exaltedly happy. Roberta, as I called her in my thoughts, shrank back bashfully, more beautiful than I had ever seen her. It was a great, a momentous hour for me. I felt that I had settled the case.
"I shall ask the plaintiff," said the judge, "to dismiss this case!"
"On what grounds?" interrogated Beasley sharply.
"Don't tell, Forceythe!" said Roberta, hiding her face on the judge's arm as I approached.
"Because the defendant," the judge replied to Beasley, "has resigned. She is about to be married!"
"Didn't I tell you, Oc," said Winfield, slapping me on the back—which in the delightful embarrassment of the occasion I did not resent—"that it was up to you?"
A boy in the audience—I think it was William Middlekauff—caught the judge's statement, and ungrammatically shouted: "Who to?"