The clock ticked loud! Eli counted the seconds. He knew the determination of the foreman. The silence became intense. “I want to say my say,” said a short man in a pea-jacket,--a retired San Francisco pilot, named Eldridge. “I entertain no doubt the man is guilty. At the same time, I allow for differences of opinion. I don't know this man that's voted 'not guilty,' but he seems to be a well-meaning man. I don't know his reasons; probably he don't understand the case. I should like to have the foreman tell the evidence over, so as if he don't see it clear, he can ask questions, and we can explain.” “I second de motion,” said George Washington. There was a general rustle of approval. “I move it,” said the pilot, encouraged. “Very well, Mr. Eldridge,” said the foreman. “If there is no objection, I will state the evidence, and if there is any loop-hole, I will trouble Mr. Smith to suggest it as I go along;” and he proceeded to give a summary of the testimony, with homely force. “Now, sir?” he said, when he had finished. “I move for another ballot,” said Mr. Eldridge. The result was the same. Eli had voted “not guilty.” “Mr. Smith,” said the foreman, “this must be settled in some way. This is no child's play. You can't keep eleven men here, trifling with them, giving no pretence of a reason.” “I have n't no reasons, only that I don't believe he 's guilty,” said Eli. “I 'm not goin' to vote a man into State's-prison, when I don't believe he done it,” and he rose and walked to the window and looked out. It was low tide. There was a broad stretch of mud in the distance, covered with boats lying over disconsolate. A driving storm had emptied the streets. He beat upon the rain-dashed glass a moment with his fingers, and then he sat down again. “Well, sir,” said the foreman, “this is singular conduct. What do you propose to do?” Silence. “I suppose you realize that the rest of us are pretty rapidly forming a conclusion on this matter,” said the foreman. “Come! come!” said Mr. Eldridge; “don't be quite so hard on him, Captain. Now, Mr. Smith,” he said, standing up with his hands in his coat-pockets and looking at Eli, “we know that there often is crooked sticks on juries, that hold out alone--that's to be expected; but they always argue, and stand to it the rest are fools, and all that. Now, all is, we don't see why you don't sort of argue, if you 've got reasons satisfactory to you. Come, now,” he added, walking up to Eli, and resting one foot on the seat of his chair, “why don't you tell it over? and if we 're wrong, I 'm ready to join you.” Eli looked up at him. “Did n't you ever know,” he said, “of a man's takin' a cat off, to lose, that his little girl did n't want drownded, and leavin' him ashore, twenty or thirty miles, bee-line, from home, and that cat's bein' back again the next day, purrin' 'round 's if nothin' had happened?” “Yes,” said Mr. Eldridge--“knew of just such a case.”