David Dunne Part 19

"Then the poor man will be convicted and David will gain no glory,"

lamented M'ri. "It means so much to a young lawyer to win his first case."

The Judge smiled.

"Neither of them needs any sympathy. Miggs ought to have been sent over the road long ago. David's got to have experience before he gains glory."

"How did you come to take such a case?" asked M'ri, for the Judge was quite exclusive in his acceptance of clients.

"It was David's doings," said the Judge, with a frown that had a smile lurking behind it.

"Why did he wish you to take the case?" persisted M'ri.

"As near as I can make out," replied the Judge, with a slight softening of his grim features, "it was because Miggs' wife takes in washing when Miggs is celebrating."

M'ri walked quickly to the window, murmuring some unintelligible sound of endearment.

On the day of the summing-up at the trial the court room was crowded.

There were the habitual court hangers on, David's country friends _en ma.s.se_, a large filling in at the back of the representatives of the highways and byways, a.s.sociates of the popular wrongdoer, and the legal lore of the town, with the good-humored patronage usually bestowed by the profession on the newcomer to their ranks.

As the Judge had said, his client was conceded to be slated for conviction. If he had made the argument himself he would have made it in his usual cool, well-poised manner. But David, although he knew Miggs to be a veteran of the toughs, felt sure of his innocence in this case, and he was determined to battle for him, not for the sake of justice alone, but for the sake of the tired-looking washerwoman he had seen bending over the tubs. This was an occupation she had to resort to only in her husband's times of indulgence, for he was a wage earner in his days of soberness.

When David arose to speak it seemed to the people a.s.sembled that the coil of evidence, as reviewed by the prosecutor in his argument, was drawn too closely for any power to extricate the victim.

At the first words of the young lawyer, uttered in a voice of winning mellowness, the public forgot the facts in the case. Swayed by the charm of David's personality, a current of new-born sympathy for the prisoner ran through the court room.

David came up close to the jury and, as he addressed them, he seemed to be oblivious of the presence of any one else in the room. It was as though he were telling them, his friends, something he alone knew, and that he was sure of their belief in his statements.

"For all the world," thought M'ri, listening, "as he used to tell stories when he was a boy. He'd fairly make you believe they were true."

To be sure the jury were all his friends; they had known him when he was little "barefoot Dave Dunne." Still, they were captivated by this new oratory, warm, vivid, and inspiring, delivered to the accompaniment of dulcet and seductive tones that transported them into an enchanted world. Their senses were stirred in the same way they would be if a flag were unfurled.

"Sounds kind o' like orgin music," whispered Miss Rhody.

Yet underneath the eloquence was a logical simplicity, a keen sifting of facts, the exposure of flaws in the circ.u.mstantial evidence. There was a force back of what he said like the force back of the projectile. About the form of the hardened sinner, Miggs, David drew a circle of innocence that no one ventured to cross. Simply, convincingly, and concisely he summed up, with a forceful appeal to their intelligence, their honor, and their justice.

The reply by the a.s.sistant to the prosecutor was perfunctory and ineffective. The charge of the judge was neutral. The jury left the room, and were out eight and one-quarter minutes. As they filed in, the foreman sent a triumphant telepathic message to David before he quietly drawled out:

"Not guilty, yer Honor."

The first movement was from Mrs. Miggs. And she came straight to David, not to the jury.

"David," said the Judge, who had cleared his throat desperately and wiped his gla.s.ses carefully, at the look in the eyes of the young lawyer when they had rested on the defendant's wife, "hereafter our office will be the refuge for all the riffraff in the country."

This was his only comment, but the Judge did not hesitate to turn over any case to him thereafter.

When David had added a few more victories to his first one, Jud made one of his periodical diversions by an offense against the law which was far more serious in nature than his previous misdeeds had been.

M'ri came out to the farm to discuss the matter.

"Barnabas, Martin thinks you had better let the law take its course this time. He says it's the only procedure left untried to reform Jud.

He is sure he can get a light sentence for him--two years."

"M'ri," said Barnabas, in a voice vibrating with reproach, "do you want Jud to go to prison?"

M'ri paled.

"I want to do what is best for him, Barnabas. Martin thinks it will be a salutary lesson."

"I wonder, M'ri," said Barnabas slowly, "if the Judge had a son of his own, he would try to reform him by putting him behind bars."

"Oh, Barnabas!" protested M'ri, with a burst of tears.

"He's still my boy, if he is wild, M'ri."

"But, Barnabas, Martin's patience is exhausted. He has got him out of trouble so many times--and, oh, Barnabas, he says he won't under any circ.u.mstances take the case! He is ashamed to face the court and jury with such a palpably guilty client. I have pleaded with him, but I can't influence him. You know how set he can be!"

"Wal, there are other lawyers," said Barnabas grimly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_He kept his word. Jud was cleared_"]

David had remained silent and constrained during this conversation, the lines of his young face setting like steel. Suddenly he left the house and paced up and down in the orchard, to wrestle once more with the old problem of his boyhood days. It was different now. Then it had been a question of how much he must stand from Jud for the sake of the benefits bestowed by the offender's father. Now it meant a sacrifice of principle. He had made his boyish boast that he would defend only those who were wrongfully accused. To take this case would be to bring his wagon down from the star. Then suddenly he found himself disposed to arraign himself for selfishly clinging to his ideals.

He went back into the house, where M'ri was still tearfully arguing and protesting. He came up to Barnabas.

"I will clear Jud, if you will trust the case to me, Uncle Barnabas."

Barnabas grasped his hand.

"Bless you, Dave, my boy," he said. "I wanted you to, but Jud has been--wal, I didn't like to ask you."

"David," said M'ri, when they were alone, "Martin said you wouldn't take a case where you were convinced of the guilt of the client."

"I shall take this case," was David's quiet reply.

"Really, David, Martin thinks it will be best for Jud--"

"I don't want to do what is best for Jud, Aunt M'ri, I want to do what is best for Uncle Barnabas. It's the first chance I ever had to do anything for him."

When Judge Thorne found that David was determined to defend Jud, he gave him some advice:

"You must get counter evidence, if you can, David. If you have any lingering idea that you can appeal to the jury on account of Barnabas being Jud's father, root out that idea. There's no chance of rural juries tempering justice with mercy. With them it's an eye for an eye, every time."

David had an infinitely harder task in clearing Jud than he had had in defending Miggs. The evidence was clear, the witnesses sure and wary, and the prisoner universally detested save by his evil-minded companions, but these obstacles brought out in full force all David's indomitable will and alertness. He tipped up and entrapped the prosecution's witnesses with lightning dexterity. One of them chanced to be a man whom David had befriended, and he aided him by replying shrewdly in Jud's favor.

But it was Jud himself who proved to be David's trump card. He was keen, crafty, and quick to seize his lawyer's most subtle suggestions.

His memory was accurate, and with David's steering he avoided all traps set for him on cross examination. When David stood before the jury for the most stubborn fight he had yet made, his mother's last piece of advice--all she had to bequeath to him--permeated every effort. He put into his argument all the compelling force within him.

There were no ornate sentences this time, but he concentrated his powers of logic and persuasiveness upon his task. The jury was out two hours, during which time Barnabas and Jud sat side by side, pale and anxious, but upheld by David's confident a.s.surance of victory.

He kept his word. Jud was cleared.