Lydia, who was to be the first witness for the defense, had thought over every point, every implication of her own testimony, until she felt sure that "that man" would not be able to catch her wrong in a single item. She did not dread the moment--she longed for it. Wiley had advised her of the danger of remembering too much--a candid "I'm afraid I don't remember that" would often convince a jury better than a too exact memory. "And," Wiley added soothingly, "don't be frightened if the district attorney tries to browbeat you. The court will protect you, and if I seem to let it go on it will be because I see it's prejudicing the jury in your favor." Lydia's nostrils fluttered with a long indrawn breath. "I don't think he will frighten me," she said. But most of all, Wiley advised her as to her bearing. She must be gentle, feminine, appealing, as if she would not voluntarily injure a fly. No matter what happened, she mustn't set her jaw and tap her foot and flash back contemptuous answers. Lydia moved her head, looking exactly as Wiley did not want her to look. "I cannot be appealing," she said. "Then the district attorney will win his case," said Wiley. There was a pause, and then Lydia said in her good-little-girl manner: "I'll do my best." Everybody knew that her best would be good. The People were to close their case that morning. A witness as to Lydia's speed just before the accident was on the stand. He testified that, following her as fast as his car would go--he had no speedometer--he had not been able to keep her in sight. His name was Yakob Ussolof, and he had great difficulty with the English language. His statements were, however, clear and damaging. The jury was almost purely Anglo-Saxon, and as Wiley rose to cross-examine the very effort he made to get the name right--"Mr.--er--Mr.--U--Ussolof"--was an appeal to their Americanism. "Mr. Ussolof, you have driven an automobile for some years?" "Yare, yare," said Mr. Ussolof eagerly, "for ten years now." "How long had you owned the car you were driving on March eleventh?" "Since fall now." "Ah, a new car. And what was its make?" "Flivver." The magic word worked its accustomed miracle. Everyone smiled, and Wiley, seeing before him a jury of flivver owners, went on: "And do you mean to tell me, Mr. Ussolof, that in the speediest car built in America you could not keep a foreign-built car going at thirty miles an hour in sight? Oh, Mr. Ussolof, you don't do us justice. We build better cars than that!"