f the
house!"

But he himself read the papers, after dinner.

Before nine he set out for the house of Lawyer Maxwell. He was received
without cordiality. "Well?" said Maxwell.

"I want to offer my services in the trial. I've got an idea. Why
couldn't I go on the stand and swear I was there, and she pulled the gun
first and he wrestled with her and the gun went off accidentally?"

"And perjure yourself?"

"Huh? Yes, I suppose it would be perjury. Oh--Would it help?"

"But, my dear fellow! Perjury!"

"Oh, don't be a fool! Excuse me, Maxwell; I didn't mean to get your
goat. I just mean: I've known and you've known many and many a case of
perjury, just to annex some rotten little piece of real estate, and
here where it's a case of saving Paul from going to prison, I'd perjure
myself black in the face."

"No. Aside from the ethics of the matter, I'm afraid it isn't
practicable. The prosecutor would tear your testimony to pieces. It's
known that only Riesling and his wife were there at the time."

"Then, look here! Let me go on the stand and swear--and this would be
the God's truth--that she pestered him till he kind of went crazy."

"No. Sorry. Riesling absolutely refuses to have any testimony reflecting
on his wife. He insists on pleading guilty."

"Then let me get up and testify something--whatever you say. Let me do
SOMETHING!"

"I'm sorry, Babbitt, but the best thing you can do--I hate to say it,
but you could help us most by keeping strictly out of it."

Babbitt, revolving his hat like a defaulting poor tenant, winced so
visibly that Maxwell condescended:

"I don't like to hurt your feelings, but you see we both want to do our
best for Riesling, and we mustn't consider any other factor. The trouble
with you, Babbitt, is that you're one of these fellows who talk too
readily. You like to hear your own voice. If there were anything for
which I could put you in the witness-box, you'd get going and give the
whole show away. Sorry. Now I must look over some papers--So sorry."

II

He spent most of the next morning nerving himself to face the garrulous
world of the Athletic Club. They would talk about Paul; they would
be lip-licking and rotten. But at the Roughnecks' Table they did not
mention Paul. They spoke with zeal of the coming baseball season. He
loved them as he never had before.

III

He had, doubtless from some story-book, pictured Paul's trial as a
long struggle, with bitter arguments, a