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"That harmonica was fine!" said Jim, grinning amiably. Mr. Peaslee was immensely relieved. If there was a momentary twinge at the thought of the money it had cost him, it was quickly gone. "Glad ye enjoyed it. Seem 's though I wanted to give ye a little suthin' considerin'. I hope you and your father ain't ones to lay it up agin me." "That's all right," said Jim, grandly.
"That is," he added, with the air of one who observes a courteous form, "unless some of the grand jurors wish to ask a question." There were various things which were new to Mr. Peaslee in this testimony. He had supposed that Jim had been picked as the guilty person by a process of mere exclusion; he had had no idea that the case against him was so strong.
Peaslee the next morning to the jury-room. The counsel of the night had brought no comfort, and when he came among his fellows their constraint and silence were far from reassuring. Nor, when the sitting had begun, did he like the enigmatic smile with which the well-dressed Paige stood and swung his watch-chain. How he distrusted and feared this smug, self-complacent young man!
Abijah's exclamation was not deference to legal knowledge; it was merely quick seizure of a tactical point. "Lamoury was shot," Paige went on, with a little smile at Keith's interruption, "and by his own statement, Mr. Peaslee shot him. On his own admission, his gun was dangerously loaded.
Was not Dana the name of a certain captain, a stepson of Congressman Peaslee, of New Hampshire, who had lived with us at Willard's Hotel and were there not two children, Charley and Mamie, and a dear little mother, and I had been listening to the talk of the newcomer. He was a licensed cotton buyer with a pass to come and go at will through the lines, and was returning next day.
Of course, if Peaslee had seen anything, he would have spoken, but he might have overlooked the importance of some fact or other. "Just a moment, Sampson!" he said, and put up his hand. Then he swung sharply in his chair and put the question: "Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?"
Mr. Peaslee looked more complacent than ever. It was Saturday noon, and Solomon had just returned from his usual morning sojourn "up-street." He had taken off his coat, and was washing his face at the sink, while his wife was "dishing up" the midday meal.
He ain't so pious as he looks, if all stories are true." But Mr. Peaslee was already outside the door. She raised her voice shrilly. "You be back, now; them chickens has got to be fed!" Mr. Peaslee sought a more sympathetic audience. Being drawn for the grand jury had greatly flattered his vanity, for it encouraged a secret ambition which he had long held to get into public life.
"I had a bully time at the jail. Mrs. Calkins is a splendid woman. You just ought to eat one of her doughnuts!" "Didn't know they fed ye up much to the jail," commented Solomon, puzzled. "Oh, I wasn't locked up," said Jim, and explained. "Well, well, I'm beat! That was clever on 'em, wa'n't it now?" said Mr. Peaslee, much pleased. "And father ain't holding any grudge, either," said Jim.
Why had Farnsworth asked that question? In casting doubt upon his one brave deed fate seemed to him to have done its worst. "He'd got up before I put the question," said Farnsworth. He wished to be just. But he was indignant with Peaslee.
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