Mr. Tutt spoke first.  He thanked the gaping jury for their attention and courtesy and kindness and intelligence and for taking the trouble to listen to him.  He told them what a wise and upright judge the old baboon on the bench was; and what a sterling, honest, kindly chap the fat assistant district attorney really was.  They were the highest type of public officers—­but paid—­he accentuated the “paid” very slightly—­to do their duty as they interpreted it.  Now, Mr. Hingman would have to claim that Danny Lowry was a criminal; whereas, thank heaven! they all of them—­every man of them—­knew he was nothing of the kind!  Criminal—­that old man?  Mr. Tutt raised his eyes and his arms to heaven in protest.  Why, one look at him would create a reasonable doubt!  But the case against him failed absolutely for the following reasons: 

Daniel Lowry had not practised veterinary medicine without a license in taking care of Brown’s sick horse, because he had not claimed to be a veterinary; he had not been paid for his services; and because all he had done was to help a suffering animal, as any man who called himself a Christian and had a heart would have done, and as it was his duty to do.  Who “shall have an ass or an ox fallen into a pit”? and so on.  It was in Holy Writ!  The highest law!

There was no evidence against Danny at all, because Brown was an accomplice and his testimony was not corroborated; at any rate he was a procurer and instigator of crime, an agent provocateur, a despicable liar, hypocrite and violator of the very law he was paid to uphold; and as he had held himself out as a physician to Danny Lowry everything that passed between them was privileged as a confidential communication and must be disregarded as if it had never been said.

Daniel Lowry was a man of the highest reputation, of such character that he never had been guilty of an unkind or selfish act in his entire life, much less commit crime; which alone, taken by itself, was quite enough to interject and raise a reasonable doubt—­upon which they must acquit.

Then Tom Hingman got up and grimaced and said he had known Mr. Tutt all his professional life and he was a peach, but they mustn’t believe what he said or let him put anythin’ over on ’em, for he was pretty slick even if he was a fine old feller.  Now the plain fact was, as they all knew perfectly well, that this old boy had been caught with the goods.  It might be tough luck, but the law was the law and they were all there to enforce it—­much as they hated to do so—­and there was nothing to it but to convict and let the judge deal with the defendant with that mercy and leniency and forbearance for which he was so justly famous.  He panted a few times and sat down.