so
wealthy, so progressive, so sure? Was this only December 5th or 6th now
(it was after midnight)? Why was it the jury had deliberated so long?
What did it mean? Here they were now, standing and gazing solemnly
before them; and here now was Judge Payderson, mounting the steps of his
rostrum, his frizzled hair standing out in a strange, attractive
way, his familiar bailiff rapping for order. He did not look at
Cowperwood--it would not be courteous--but at the jury, who gazed at him
in return. At the words of the clerk, "Gentlemen of the jury, have you
agreed upon a verdict?" the foreman spoke up, "We have."

"Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"

"We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment."

How had they come to do this? Because he had taken a check for sixty
thousand dollars which did not belong to him? But in reality it did.
Good Lord, what was sixty thousand dollars in the sum total of all the
money that had passed back and forth between him and George W. Stener?
Nothing, nothing! A mere bagatelle in its way; and yet here it had
risen up, this miserable, insignificant check, and become a mountain of
opposition, a stone wall, a prison-wall barring his further progress. It
was astonishing. He looked around him at the court-room. How large and
bare and cold it was! Still he was Frank A. Cowperwood. Why should he
let such queer thoughts disturb him? His fight for freedom and privilege
and restitution was not over yet. Good heavens! It had only begun. In
five days he would be out again on bail. Steger would take an appeal.
He would be out, and he would have two long months in which to make an
additional fight. He was not down yet. He would win his liberty. This
jury was all wrong. A higher court would say so. It would reverse their
verdict, and he knew it. He turned to Steger, where the latter was
having the clerk poll the jury, in the hope that some one juror had been
over-persuaded, made to vote against his will.

"Is that your verdict?" he heard the clerk ask of Philip Moultrie, juror
No. 1.

"It is," replied that worthy, solemnly.

"Is that your verdict?" The clerk was pointing to Simon Glassberg.

"Yes, sir."

"Is that your verdict?" He pointed to Fletcher Norton.

"Yes."

So it went through the whole jury. All the men answered firmly and
clearly, though Steger thought it might barely be possible that one
would have changed his mind. The judge thanked them and told them that
i