With his sleek, bullet head he looked sheepish enough, but the thing was being made so easy for him—that was what seemed villainous to Steer, that and the sight of Bowden’s face, unmoved, the breadth of two pigs away. When his own counsel began to cross-examine, Steer became conscious that he had made a hideous mistake. Why had he not caused his lawyer to drag in the girl Pansy? What on earth had he been about to let his natural secretiveness, his pride in his niece, prevent his using the weapon which would have alienated every sympathy from that young rascal. He tingled with disappointed anger. So the fellow was not to be shown up properly! It was outrageous. And then suddenly his ears pricked. “Now, young man,” counsel was saying, “don’t you think that in days like these you can serve your country better than by going about breaking girls’ hearts?... Kindly answer that question!... Don’t waste his lordship’s time. Yes? Speak up, please!”
“I’m workin’ the land—I’m growin’ food for you to eat!”
“Indeed! The jury will draw their own conclusions as to what sort of leniency they can extend to a young man in your position.”
And Steer’s lips relaxed. That was a nasty one!
Then came the speeches from counsel on both sides, and everything was said over again, but Steer had lost interest; disappointment nagged at him, as at a man who has meant to play a fine innings—and gets out for seven. Now the Judge was saying everything that everybody had said and a little more besides. The jury must not let themselves this, and let themselves that. Defendant’s counsel had alluded to the divorce court—they must not allow any such consideration to weigh with them. While the law was what it was breach of promise actions must be decided on their merits. They would consider this, and they would consider that, and return a verdict, and give damages according to their consciences. And out the jury filed. Steer felt lonely while they were absent. On one side of him were those Bowdens whom he wanted to make sweat, on the other his niece whom, to judge from her face, he had made sweat. He was not a lover of animals, but a dog against his legs would have been a comfort during that long quarter of an hour, while those two enemies of his so stolidly stared before them. Then the jury came back, and the sentiment in his heart stuttered into a form he could have sent through the post: ‘O Lord! make them sweat. Your humble servant, J. Steer.’
“We find for the plaintiff with damages three hundred pounds.”
Three hundred! And costs—with costs it would come to five! And Bowden had no capital; he was always on the edge of borrowing to get through—yes, it would push him hard! And grasping his niece’s arm Steer rose and led her out by the right-hand door, while the Bowdens sought the left. In the corridor his lawyer came up. The fellow hadn’t half done his job! And Steer was about to say so, when those two fellers passed, walking as though over turnips, and he heard Bowden say:
“Think he’ll get that stickin’ plaster—let ’im wait an’ see!”
He was about to answer, when the lawyer laid hold of his lapel.
“Get your niece away, Mr. Steer; she’s had enough.” And without sense of conquest, with nothing but a dull irritable aching in his heart, Steer took her arm and walked her out of the precincts of the law.