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Updated: August 7, 2024
Switzer and the judge and the jury was an open space fifteen feet square. On a raised platform in this vacant space was the witness chair, facing the jury. Doug Hill and Patsy Clark were the only witnesses for the State. The defendant had summoned no witnesses, and Dic's fate rested in the hands of his enemy and his enemy's henchman.
"Rita has promised to be my wife." "Never!" cried the old woman, out of the spirit of pure antagonism. "Never!" she repeated, closing her lips in a spasm of supposed duty. Rita's heart sank, and Dic's seemed heavier by many pounds than a few moments before, though he did not fear the apostle of justice and duty as did Rita.
"But, Billy Little," cried Dic, "you have it wrong. Don't you see that she will be an inspiration? She will fire me. I will work and achieve greater things for her sake than I could possibly accomplish without her." "That's why you're going to New York, is it?" asked Dic's cynical friend. "Well, you know, that was her first request, and and, you must understand " "Yes, I understand.
The first conclusion was a surprise to her: she did not love Dic as she had supposed. A scornful indifference seemed to occupy the place in her heart that for years had been Dic's. With that indifference came a sense of change. Dic was not the Dic she had known and loved. He was another person; and to this feeling of strangeness was added one of scorn.
The girl was frightened, although eager to hear what he would say, so she remained silent during Dic's long pause, and at length he said, "I thank you for the letter." A sigh of mingled relief and disappointment came from her breast. "It gave me great pleasure, for it made me know that you were still my friend," said Dic, "and that your words were meant for Tom, and not for me."
Silence ensued on Dic's part, and travel on the side road became slow. Rita was beginning to want to gallop. If she continued on the side road, she feared her motive might grow to look more like a desire to learn than a desire to tease; but she summoned her boldness, and with a laugh that was intended to be merry, said:
He wished to appear well for Dic's sake, and ransacked his past life for points in etiquette and manner once familiar, but now almost forgotten by him and by the world. His quaint old resurrections were comical and apt to create mirth, but beneath their oddities I believe a discerning person would easily have recognized the gentleman.
The girl was not tall enough by many inches to protect Dic's face from the breaking Doug had threatened; but what she lacked in height she made up in terror, and she looked so "skeert," as Doug afterwards said, that he turned upon his heel with the remark: "That's all right. I was only joking. We don't want no fight at a church social, do we, Dic?"
I seem to hear them singing, Billy's piping treble, plaintive, quaint, and almost sweet, carrying the tenor to Dic's bass. There was no soprano. The concert was all tenor and bass, south wind, and rustling leaves. The song helped Dic to express his happiness, and enabled Billy to throw off the remnants of his heartache.
The thought of her anguish drowned the pain he felt on his own account, and his suffering for her sake seemed more than he could bear. Billy Little, he supposed, had gone to the wedding, and for the first time in Dic's life he was angry with that steadfast friend.
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