Mrs. Champney testified at the afternoon session.  She made a most unfavorable impression on the jury.  She got very angry at Smilk’s counsel and said such spiteful things to him and about his client that the jury began to feel sorry for both of them.

Two detectives and three policemen in uniform testified that Smilk was the picture of health and a desperate-looking character.  Now anybody who has ever served on a jury in a criminal case knows the effect that the testimony of a police officer has on three fourths—­ and frequently four fourths,—­of the jurors.  For some unexplained,—­though perhaps obvious reason,—­the ordinary juror not only hates a policeman but refuses to believe him on oath unless he is supported by evidence of the most unassailable nature.  The mere fact that the five officers swore that Smilk was healthy and rugged no doubt went a long way toward convincing the jury that the poor fellow was a physical wreck and absolutely unable to defend himself on the night of the alleged burglary.

Moreover, a skilled mind-reader would have discovered that Mr. Yollop had not made a good impression on the jury.  Almost to a man, they discredited him because he was fastidious in appearance; because he was known to be a successful and prosperous business man; because he was trying to make them believe that he possessed the unheard-of courage to tackle an armed burglar; and because he was a milliner.  As for Mrs. Champney, she was the embodiment of all that the average citizen resents:  a combination of wealth, refinement, intelligence, arrogance and widowhood.  Especially does he resent opulent widowhood.

The State rested.  Mrs. Smilk was the first witness called by the defense.  She told a harrowing tale of Smilk’s unparalleled efforts to obtain work; of his heart-breaking disappointments; of her own loyal and cheerful struggle to provide for the children,—­and for her poor sick husband,—­by slaving herself almost to death at all sorts of jobs.  Futhermore, she was positive that poor Cassius had reformed, that he was determined to lead an honest, upright life; all he needed was encouragement and the opportunity to show his worth.  True, he had been in State’s Prison twice, but in both instances it was the result of strong drink.  Now that prohibition had come and he could no longer be subjected to the evils and temptations of that accursed thing generically known as rum, he was sure to be a model citizen and husband.  In fact, she declared, a friend of the family,—­a man very high up in city politics,—­had promised to secure for Cassius an appointment as an enforcement officer in the great war that was being waged against prohibition.  This seemed to make such a hit with the jury that Smilk’s lawyer shrewdly decided not to press her to alter the preposition.

The cross-examination was brief.

The State:  “How many children have you, Mrs. Smilk?”

Mrs. Smilk:  “Seven.”