cs for conversation and
to be waiting for new ones.

The jury in the Burnham case sat listlessly in their chairs, glad that
their work in the matter at issue was nearly done, yet regretful that
a case had not been made out which might have called for the exercise
of that large intelligence, that critical acumen, that capacity
for close reasoning, of which the members of the average jury
feel themselves to be severally and collectively possessed. As it
was, there would be little for them to do. The case was extremely
one-sided, "like the handle on a jug," as one of them sententiously
and somewhat scornfully remarked.

The judge looked up from his writing. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "are
you ready to proceed in the case of 'Craft against Burnham'?"

"We are ready on the part of the plaintiff," replied Sharpman.

Goodlaw arose. "If it please the court," he said, "we are in the same
position to-day that we were in on Saturday night at the adjournment.
This matter has been, with us, one of investigation rather than of
defence.

"Though we hesitate to accept a statement of fact from a man of Simon
Craft's self-confessed character, yet the corroborative evidence seems
to warrant a belief in the general truth of his story.

"We do not wish to offer any further contradictory evidence than that
already elicited from the plaintiff's witnesses. I may say, however,
that this decision on our part is due not so much to my own sense of
the legal barrenness of our case as to my client's deep conviction
that the boy Ralph is her son, and to her great desire that justice
shall be done to him."

"In that case," said the judge, "I presume you will have nothing
further to offer on the part of the plaintiff, Mr. Sharpman?"

"Nothing," replied that gentleman, with an involuntary, smile of
satisfaction on his lips.

"Then," said Goodlaw, who was still standing, "I suppose the evidence
may be declared closed. I know of no--" He stopped and turned to see
what the noise and confusion back by the entrance was about. The eyes
of every one else in the room were turned in that direction also. A
tipstaff was trying to detain Ralph at the door; he had not recognized
him. But the boy broke away from him and hurried down the central
aisle to the railing of the bar. In the struggle with the officer he
had lost his hat, and his hair was tumbled over his forehead. His face
was grimy and streaked with perspiration; his clothes were torn and
dusty