“Defendant, look upon the juror. Juror, look upon the defendant,” said the clerk, and with his hand on the Bible Sampson took the oath to render a true verdict according to the law and the evidence, all the while looking straight into the eyes of the gaunt old man who stood and looked at him wearily, drearily, as if from a distance that rendered his vision useless. Then Sampson sank awkwardly into the third seat, and sighed so profoundly that juror No. 2 chuckled. He certainly was in for it now. CHAPTER II You needn't pack,” said Sampson to his valet that evening. “I'm stuck.” “Stuck, sir?” “Caught on the jury, Turple. Landed at last. But,” he sighed, “I've given 'em a good run though, haven't I?” “You 'ave, sir. I dare say you will like it 'owever, now that you've been stuck, as you say. My father, when he was alive, was very fond of serving on the juries, sir. He was constantly being 'ad up in small cases, and it was 'is greatest ham--ambition to get a whack at a good 'orrifying murder trial. I 'ope as 'ow you 'ave been stuck on a murder case, sir. In England we--” “It isn't a murder case. Merely embezzlement. But I must not discuss the case, Turple, not even with you.” “What a pity, sir. You usually consult me about any think that--” “Call up the New York Central office at Thirtieth Street and cancel my reservations, and lay out a blue serge suit for to-morrow.” “Isn't it a bit coolish to be wearing a serge--” “Those court-rooms are frightfully close, Turple. A blue serge.'' “You look better in a blue serge than anythink you--” “It is comfort, not looks, that I'm after, Turple,” explained Sampson, who perhaps lied. “Sets a man off as no other goods--I beg pardon, sir. I will call up the booking office at once, sir. The blue serge, sir?” “The blue serge,” said Sampson, brightly. “Anythink else, sir?” Sampson grew facetious. “You might give me a shirt and a collar and a necktie, Turple.” The man bowed gravely and retreated. His master, moved by an increasing exhilaration, called after him: “I might also suggest a pair of shoes and--well, you know what else I'm in the habit of wearing in the daytime.” Turple, knowing his master's feelings about jury service, was very much amazed later on to hear him whistling cheerily as he made preparations for a dinner engagement. The mere thought of a jury, heretofore, had created in his master a mood provocative of blasphemy, and here he was--actually “landed,” as he had put it himself--whistling as gaily as a meadow lark. Turple shook his head, completely puzzled, for he also knew his master to be a most abstemious man. In all his three years of association with his employer he had never known him to take a nip during the daytime, and that is what Turple called being most abstemious.