This was followed by a chorus of laughter, after which they began to consider the case before them, like admirable and well-reasoning jurors, as they were. Two hours passed in wrangling and talking and recriminating, when, at last, one of them, striking the table, exclaimed with an oath:
“All Europe won't save the villain. Didn't he seduce my sister's daughter, and then throw her and her child back, with shame and disgrace, on the family, without support?”
“Look at that,” said the owner of the shoe, holding it up triumphantly; “that's my supper to-night, and my argument in his defence. I say our—Protestant champion mustn't hang, at least until I starve first.”
The other, who sat opposite to him, put his hand across the table, and snatching the shoe, struck its owner between the two eyes with it and knocked him back on the floor. A scene of uproar took place, which lasted for some minutes, but at length, by the influence of the foreman, matters were brought to a somewhat amicable issue. In this way they spent the time for a few hours more, when one of the usual messengers came to know if they had agreed; but he was instantly dismissed to a very warm settlement, with the assurance that they had not.
“Come,” said one of them, pulling out a pack of cards, “let us amuse ourselves at any rate. Who's for a hand at the Spoil Five?”
The cards were looked upon as a godsend, and in a few moments one half the jury were busily engaged at that interesting game. The other portion of them amused themselves, in the meantime, as well as they could.
“Tom,” said one of them, “were you ever on a special jury in a revenue case?”
“No,” replied Tom, “never. Is there much fun?”
“The devil's own fun; because if we find for the defendant, he's sure to give us a splendid feed. But do you know how we manage when we find that we can't agree?”
“No. How is it?”