"It isn't ethical. You will find great resentment among yo' colleagues of the bar at the implication conveyed by yo' so-called investigation, suh." Calhoun Bennett had become stiff and formal. Keith still tried desperately to be reasonable and conciliatory. "But if there proves to be nothing out of the way," he urged, "surely no one could have anything to fear or object to." "Nobody has anything to fear in any case," said Bennett, "but any gentleman--and I, most decidedly--would object to the implication." At this Keith, stiffened a little in his turn. "I am sorry we differ on that point, I have good reason to believe there has been crooked work somewhere in this Cora trial. I do not know who has done it; I accuse nobody; but in the public office I hold it seems my plain duty to investigate." "Yo' public duty is to prosecute, that is all," argued Bennett. "It is the duty of the grand jury to investigate or to order investigations." Here spoke the spirit of the law, for technically Bennett was correct. "Whatever the rigid interpretation"--Keith found himself uttering heresy--"I still feel it my duty to deal personally with whatever seems to me unjustly to interfere with, proper convictions." Then he stopped, aghast at the tremendous step he had taken. For to a man trained as was Keith, in a time when all men were created for the law, and not the law for men, in a society where the lawyer was considered the greatest citizen, and subtle technicality paramount to justice or commonsense, this was a tremendous step. At that moment, and by that spontaneous and unconsidered statement, Keith, unknown to himself, passed from one side to the other in the great social struggle that was impending. "I wa'n you, suh," Bennett was repeating, "yo' course will not meet with the approval of the members of the bar." "I am sorry, Cal," said Keith sadly. Bennett rose, bowed stiffly, and turned to the door. But suddenly he whirled back, his face alight with feeling. "Oh, see heah, Milt, be sensible!" he cried. "I know just how yo're feelin' now. Yo're sore, and I don't blame you. You put ap a hard fight, and though you got licked, I don't mind tellin' you that the whole bar appreciates yo're brilliant work. You must remember you had to play a lone hand against pretty big men--the biggest we've got! We all appreciate the odds. Cora has lots of friends. You'll never convict him, Milt; but go in again for another trial, if it will do yo're feelin's any good, with our best wishes. Only don't let gettin' licked make you so sore! Don't go buttin' yo're haid at yo're friends! Be a spo't!" A half hour ago this appeal might have gained a response if not a practical effect, but the spiritual transformation in Keith was complete. "I'm sorry," he replied simply, "but I must go ahead in my own way." Calhoun Bennett's face lost its glow, and his tall figure stiffened.