There was a great crowd to hear Joe’s summing-up at the trial, and those who succeeded in getting into the court-room declared that it was worth the struggle.  He did not orate, he did not “thunder at the jury,” nor did he slyly flatter them; he did not overdo the confidential, nor seem so secure of understanding beforehand what their verdict would be that they felt an instinctive desire to fool him.  He talked colloquially but clearly, without appeal to the pathetic and without garnitures, not mentioning sunsets, birds, oceans, homes, the glorious old State, or the happiness of liberty; but he made everybody in the room quite sure that Happy Fear had fired the shot which killed Cory to save his own life.  And that, as Mr. Bradbury remarked to the Colonel, was “what Joe was there for!”

Ariel’s escort was increased to four that day:  Mr. Ladew sat beside her, and there were times when Joe kept his mind entirely to the work in hand only by an effort, but he always succeeded.  The sight of the pale and worshipping face of Happy Fear from the corner of his eye was enough to insure that.  And people who could not get near the doors, asking those who could, “What’s he doin’ now?” were answered by variations of the one formula, “Oh, jest walkin’ away with it!”

Once the court-room was disturbed and set in an uproar which even the Judge’s customary threat failed to subdue.  Joe had been talking very rapidly, and having turned the point he was making with perfect dexterity, the jury listening eagerly, stopped for a moment to take a swallow of water.  A voice rose over the low hum of the crowd in a delirious chuckle:  “Why don’t somebody `head him off!’ " The room instantly rocked with laughter, under cover of which the identity of the sacrilegious chuckler was not discovered, but the voice was the voice of Buckalew, who was incredibly surprised to find that he had spoken aloud.

The jury were “out,” after the case had been given to them, seventeen minutes and thirty seconds by the watch Claudine held in her hand.  The little man, whose fate was now on the knees of the gods, looked pathetically at the foreman and then at the face of his lawyer and began to shake violently, but not with fright.  He had gone to the jail on Joe’s word, as a good dog goes where his master bids, trustfully; and yet Happy had not been able to keep his mind from considering the horrible chances.  “Don’t worry,” Joe had said.  “It’s all right.  I’ll see you through.”  And he had kept his word.

The little man was cleared.

It took Happy a long time to get through what he had to say to his attorney in the anteroom, and even then, of course, he did not manage to put it in words, for he had “broken down” with sheer gratitude.  “Why, damn me, Joe,” he sobbed, “if ever I—­if ever you—­well, by God! if you ever—­” This was the substance of his lingual accomplishment under the circumstances.  But Claudine threw her arms around poor Joe’s neck and kissed him.