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 and with a stigma upon his name, which, by his own effort and genius, he had yet made great and honorable. Although it was Herman, not Max, who spoke, within ten minutes he had the same jurors wiping their eyes in sympathy for the prisoner. And Herman was speaking chiefly to fill out the afternoon session in order to save the morning for his father's great effort.

So, upon the twelfth morning of the trial, which was Saturday, Max started his plea, fresh and with the jury all attentive and expectant, and Max himself, in person, and also by personifying in comical mimicry the State's witnesses and the State's attorneys, and by repeating respectfully and solemnly the testimony of his own witnesses, staged the grand climax of his show. Throughout two hours, like an expert entertainer playing now upon tragedy, upon pathos, humor, prejudices, sympathies, fears, he held the jurymen and the hearers in the crowded court; and Calvin listened and watched.

His plea must follow, and as his argument ran in his head, he looked up and down the double rows of jurors to estimate how many could be counted upon to decide this serious case upon the merit of the evidence, the credibility of the witnesses and by use, not of their emotions, but their minds. He gazed from face to face of the men of old American names whom he had most willingly accepted, before his peremptory challenges were gone, and conceded them, one after another, to Elmen.

He gazed at the Greek, Andreapolos, whom Max had forced in, and he straightened with a start of warmer blood; for the Greek, who throughout the hearing of evidence had kept his mind his own and sat aloof, looking on, was doing that same thing now; beside him, and perhaps under his influence, another juror of outlandish name scrutinized Max with similar coolness, neither smiling