"Mr. Keating, the president o' the union."
The judge, who had been leaning forward with kindling eyes, breathed a prolonged "A-a-ah!"
For a moment Tom was astounded. Then he sprang to Arkansas's side. "You infernal liar!" he shouted, his eyes blazing.
The judge's hammer thundered down. "Silence!" he roared.
"But, your Honor, he's lying!"
"Five dollars for contempt of court! Another word and I'll give you the full penalty."
Two officers jerked Tom back, and surging with indignant wrath he had to listen in silence to the romance that had been spun for Arkansas's lips and which he was now respinning for the court's ears; and he quickly became aware that newspaper artists had set their pencils busy over his face. Once, glancing at Jake, he was treated with a leer of triumph.
Arkansas plausibly related what had passed between Tom and himself and his two companions; and then Bill took the stand, and then Jake. Each repeated the story Arkansas, with the help of his face, had made so convincing.
"And now, your Honor," the prisoners' attorney began when his evidence was all in, "I think I have made plain my clients' part in this most nefarious outrage. They are guilty—yes. But they were but the all too weak instruments of another's will, who galvanized them by mortal fear to do his dastardly bidding. He, he alone——"
"Save your eloquence, councilor," the judge broke in. "The case speaks best for itself. You here." He crooked his forefinger at Tom.