The jury rejoiced unwillingly, like the crowd in the bleachers when a man on the opposing team knocks a home run. The jury liked Jim better. But what they liked, after all, was what they falsely imagined. They assumed that Jim had been out on a lark and got caught and was putting up a good scrap for his lady friend. He was a hum-dinger, and no wonder the lady fell for him. Into such slang their souls translated the holiness of his emotions, and they voted him guilty even in awarding him their admiration for his defense.
Beattie paused again, then suddenly asked, “Mr. Dyckman, how long have you loved Mrs. Cheever?”
“What do you mean by 'loved'?”
“It is a familiar word. Answer the question.”
“I have admired Mrs. Cheever since she was a child. We have always been friends.”
“Your 'friendship' was considerably excited when she married Mr. Cheever, wasn't it?”
“I—I thought he was unworthy of her.”
“Was that why you beat him up in a fist fight at your club?”
This startled the entire court. Even reporters who had missed the news were excited. McNiven sprang to his feet, crying:
“I 'bject! There is no evidence before the court that there ever was such a fight. The question is incompirrelvimmaterial.”