Not very long after breakfast the telegrams began to arrive.  The first was from Braham, and ran thus: 

     “We feel certain that the verdict will be rendered to-day.  Be it
     good or bad, let it find us ready to make the next move instantly,
     whatever it may be:” 

“That’s the right talk,” said Sellers.  “That Braham’s a wonderful man.  He was the only man there that really understood me; he told me so himself, afterwards.”

The next telegram was from Mr. Dilworthy: 

     “I have not only brought over the Great Invincible, but through him
     a dozen more of the opposition.  Shall be re-elected to-day by an
     overwhelming majority.”

“Good again!” said the Colonel.  “That man’s talent for organization is something marvelous.  He wanted me to go out there and engineer that thing, but I said, No, Dilworthy, I must be on hand here,—­both on Laura’s account and the bill’s—­but you’ve no trifling genius for organization yourself, said I—­and I was right.  You go ahead, said I —­you can fix it—­and so he has.  But I claim no credit for that—­if I stiffened up his back-bone a little, I simply put him in the way to make his fight—­didn’t undertake it myself.  He has captured Noble—.  I consider that a splendid piece of diplomacy—­Splendid, Sir!”

By and by came another dispatch from New York: 

“Jury still out.  Laura calm and firm as a statue.  The report that the jury have brought her in guilty is false and premature.”

“Premature!” gasped Washington, turning white.  “Then they all expect that sort of a verdict, when it comes in.”

And so did he; but he had not had courage enough to put it into words.  He had been preparing himself for the worst, but after all his preparation the bare suggestion of the possibility of such a verdict struck him cold as death.

The friends grew impatient, now; the telegrams did not come fast enough:  even the lightning could not keep up with their anxieties.  They walked the floor talking disjointedly and listening for the door-bell.  Telegram after telegram came.  Still no result.  By and by there was one which contained a single line: 

“Court now coming in after brief recess to hear verdict.  Jury ready.”

“Oh, I wish they would finish!” said Washington.  “This suspense is killing me by inches!”

Then came another telegram: 

“Another hitch somewhere.  Jury want a little more time and further instructions.”

“Well, well, well, this is trying,” said the Colonel.  And after a pause, “No dispatch from Dilworthy for two hours, now.  Even a dispatch from him would be better than nothing, just to vary this thing.”

They waited twenty minutes.  It seemed twenty hours.

“Come!” said Washington.  “I can’t wait for the telegraph boy to come all the way up here.  Let’s go down to Newspaper Row—­meet him on the way.”