As he sat constrained to the deliberations of the jury, Benjie was beset with certain doubts and fears as to the dangers that might betide her. Through the window beside him once he saw her passing on the opposite side of the square, still safe, wavering to and fro before the display of a dry-goods store, evidently amazed at the glories of the fripperies of the fashion on view at the door.
Benjie sprang to his feet, then, realizing the exigencies of the situation, sank back in his chair.
“Thar,” he said suddenly to his colleagues, waving his hand pridefully toward the distant figure—“thar is Mis’ Casey, my wife, by Christian name Editha.”
The jury, despite the untimeliness of the interruption, had the good grace and the good manners to acknowledge this introduction, so to speak, in the spirit in which it was tendered.
“Taking in the town, I suppose,” said the foreman, a well-known grocer of the place.
“Jes so, jes so,” said the beaming Casey. “I war determinated that Mis’ Casey should visit Shaftesvul an’, ef so minded, take in the town.”
Editha vanished within the store, and Benjie’s mind was free to revert to the matter in hand. It was not altogether a usual experience even for one more habituated to jury service. The deliberations started with some unanimity of opinion, the first three ballots showing eleven to one, Benjie holding out in a stanch minority that bade fair to prevent agreement, and enabling the foreman to perpetrate the time-honored joke in the demand for supper.
“Constable,” he roared, “order a meal of victuals for eleven men and a bale of hay for a mule.”
Later, however, Benjie was all a-tingle with pride when the foreman, with a knitted brow at a crisis of the discussion observed, “There is something worth considering in one point of Mr. Casey’s contention.”