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The jurymen came from all over the rather large county, and although they all had some knowledge of the principal men of Ellmington, and although such of them as had dealings at its bank had met Mr. Peaslee, none of them knew him well. He was a newcomer at the village, and when at his farm had not had a wide acquaintance.
"This way, please!" he called, and Mr. Edwards entered the room. Farnsworth and Peaslee both studied the man's face closely, although for very different reasons, and both found it sternly uncompromising. "Please take a chair, Mr. Edwards," said Paige, and in a swift glance rapidly estimated the man. "Here's some one who won't lie," he thought, impressed.
He listened apprehensively to the loud complaint of cruelty to his client which Hibbard continued to make, until Paige, pulling the chair into the room, blandly shut the door in his face. Mr. Peaslee heaved a great sigh of mingled contrition and fear. This wreck was his work; he would be punished for it. "Mr.
Solomon should accept no office which did not bring profit. "Two dollars a day and mileage," said Mr. Peaslee, with the emphasis of one who knows he will make a sensation. "Mileage? What's that?" "Travelin' expenses. State allows ye so much a mile. I get eight cents for goin' to the courthouse." "Ye get eight cents every day?" asked his wife, her eyes snapping.
"Of course he didn't!" cried Nancy, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you? But who did, and how did you find out?" "Peaslee," said Farnsworth. "He owned up." "Mr. Peaslee! Then that awful harmonica Why, the wretch!" "Sh!" warned Farnsworth. "Not so loud! These are jury-room secrets which I'm not supposed to tell." But he told them, nevertheless.
Then they retired to the jury-room a big, desolate place, wherein was a long, ink-spattered table surrounded by wooden armchairs and spittoons. The grand jurors seated themselves, and were solemnly silent while John Paige, the state's attorney, began the dull task of presenting cases. Mr. Peaslee found that he had nothing brilliant to say.
I think you should have Lamoury here. Cross-questioning him, and perhaps Mr. Peaslee," Solomon shivered, "should establish whether the shot was accidental, as the accused says, or intentional, as Lamoury contends. I'll have the complainant here to-morrow, if it's a possible thing. As there's no formal charge as yet against Mr.
She was vague about the duties of a grand juror; maybe he had to earn his two dollars; but she had exact ideas about the trouble of walking "up-street." To get eight cents for that was being paid for doing nothing at all, and she was much astonished at the idea. "Likely now, ain't it?" said Mr. Peaslee, with masculine scorn. "State don't waste money that way!
And turning a patient, rounded back to his wife's expected indignation, he told his story while he nervously washed at the sink, and fumblingly dried his face and hands in the coarse roller towel. He made these operations last as long as his confession. Then, at an end of his resources, he turned to face the storm. Mrs. Peaslee simply looked at him.
You it's two dollars and seventy-five cents." "Don't care nothin' what it costs," said Mr. Peaslee, who was in a hurry for fear lest he should think twice. When he came out of the store with the harmonica in his hands, he almost stumbled into Miss Ware. She was on her way to Jim, and, of course, her mind was full of his affairs. Here was Mr. Edwards's next neighbor.
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