Fresh interest was injected into the case. The twelve good men and true in the jury-box were anything but bored now. Chub bore all the marks of having passed through a trying ordeal of some kind, and it must have been in behalf of the prisoner.
In the dead silence that fell over the room while Short was impressively making ready to begin his examination, a piping voice floated through the intense quiet.
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! It's Chub, my leetle pard, Chub! Him an' Motor Matt hev been workin' their heads off to git evidence fer Clipperton, an' here——"
"Silence!" thundered the judge. "Officer," he added, "if that man makes any more disturbance, put him out."
Welcome Perkins subsided. The prosecutor frowned, and Short looked pleased. Something had got to the jury which would help, rather than injure, the defendant.
"Your name?" asked Short, facing Chub.
"Mark McReady," came the answer, in a voice that trembled from fatigue and excitement.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."