stood with his eyes fixed on the witness, who lowered back at him defiantly. Mr. O’Hara had entered the enclosure and had bent his head to that of the boy, who nodded.
“One more question,” he said, resuming his examination. “When you made this proposition to Renig and he struck you—in your opinion was his act rational or irrational?”
“Oh!—I must object! This witness isn’t an expert!” smiled Redmond. But he caught no answering gleam from the jury.
“Allowed,” murmured the judge wearily.
“I guess it was pretty irrational to crown me that way for nothing!”
“That is all!”
“That is all!”
Redmond waved the unfortunate Ganz from the stand. The jury watched him menacingly as he made his way to the seat.
Mr. O’Hara arose and addressed the court:
“If Your Honor please,” he said, in a rich voice full of deep cadences, “we desire to withdraw our plea of not guilty heretofore entered by us, and to substitute for it the plea of not guilty on the ground of insanity.”
“Insanity!”
The judge stared at him as if the word had more relevancy to the conduct of the lawyer than to that of his client.
“We plead insanity.”
Mr. Dollar thrust his silver coiffure over the edge of the dais.
“The Code allows them to do that, Yoronner.”
“Very well,” said the judge uncertainly.
Mr. Dollar sat down again, and the only sound in the court-room was the careful scratching of his pen. Presently he got up.
“Paul Renig, you desire to withdraw the plea of not guilty heretofore entered by you, and to substitute the plea of not guilty on the ground of insanity?”
“We do!” assented Mr. O’Hara.
Mr. Dollar sat down.
“Proceed, gentlemen.”
Mr. O’Hara had wandered out of the court-room again.
“The People rest,” said Redmond indifferently.
“The defence rests,” returned Dillon.
“Do you desire to sum up?” inquired the judge.
“I see no need of saying anything further,” replied Dillon. “If the district attorney desires this case to go to the jury, I am willing to submit on Your Honor’s charge.”
“That is entirely satisfactory to the People,” agreed his adversary.
“Order in the court!”
The judge pulled his silk robe about his shoulders, fumbled among the papers before him for his “Charge Book,” and, having looked up “Assault” in the index, read to the jury several ungrammatical and hopelessly confusing pages, then turned over to “Insanity” and proceeded to give them ten or twelve pages more, which no human mind could possibly make head or tail of, much less twelve well-meaning burghers drawn out by lot from barber shops, abattoirs, and delicatessens, and who never read anything but the comics in the Sunday supplement.
They paid no attention to him, and would not have understood what he was talking about if they had. So far as they were concerned the plaintiff was a dirty dog and that was the end of it.
“. . . And so, gentlemen, your verdict will be either ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty on the ground of insanity.’ You may retire!”
But the jury showed no disposition to retire. Instead, the foreman whispered to the man beside him, who in turn communicated with his neighbour, who did likewise, until the circle had been completed. Then the foreman looked up at the judge and said:
“Unless the law requires us to go out we don’t need to leave the box.”
“I will receive your verdict,” said His Honor, who felt positive that under the circumstances nobody could possibly criticise his conduct of the case.
The foreman stood up.
“We find the defendant ‘not guilty—on the ground of insanity’—and,” he added with asperity, “we would like to find the gas company guilty of manslaughter, if that is correct.”
“I will receive the first part of your verdict—and treat the rest as a recommendation,” smiled the judge. “I congratulate you, gentlemen. I thank you for your attention. I think that is all for the day?—The defendant is discharged.”
“. . . With the thanks of the court!” murmured Mr. Redmond as they all arose. Then stepping to the dais he asked humbly: “May I take you home in a taxi, Miss Devens?”
And so the monads who composed the jury, and who had neither heard nor listened to the law, and who neither understood it nor could have understood it, nor applied it if they had got it into their heads, these twelve monads, being human monads, did what the human emotions within their bosoms directed them to do.
The judge nodded to Mr. Dollar.
“Adjourn court,” he directed.
Captain Lynch lifted his goatee ceilingward.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! This court stands adjourned until Monday morning at ten o’clock!”
As if a stop-cock had been pulled in the bottom of an aquarium, the contents of the Criminal Term began to run out—at first sucking away only those nearest the entrance, then as the current strengthened, pulling them all into the aisles and leaving only the lees upon the benches: Mr. Wilhelm Ganz, the woman in chinchilla, a punctilious drunk, and a “nut” with a package of papers tied in a newspaper who wanted “to speak to the judge just for a minute.”
His Honor, now at last relieved of all official responsibility, shook hands cordially with Miss Devens.
“Sorry we couldn’t give you a more thrilling afternoon. Look in on us again. Remember me kindly to your father.” The shining pink spot of his cranium bobbed down the three steps of the dais above the flying carpet of his gown and disappeared into the robing-room. At the other end of the aquarium the fish were wriggling in a solid mass through the big doors.
“Quiet there!” admonished the officer. “Stop your shoving!”
A cold shaft of air pierced the sickly-sweet atmosphere. A sallow law clerk, with an armful of books, hunched his shoulders to light a cigarette.
Miss Devens was looking past the gallant Mr. Michael Redmond at the group clustered around Renig and his attorney.
“Take me home?” she repeated. “Oh, my own motor is waiting, thank you.”
“May I come to see you sometime?”
“Oh, do.” She was barely polite. “What
