“Of course we oughtn't,” broke in the irrepressible Mr. Hooper. “Any damn' fool ought to see that.” Sampson eyed Mr. Hooper severely. “He's leaving it to me, Mr. Hooper; not to you.” He leaned a little closer, his eyes narrowing. “And, by the way, Mr. Hooper, before we go any farther, I should like to call your attention to several facts entirely separate and apart from this trial. It may interest you to know that I am six feet one in my stocking feet, that I weigh one hundred and ninety-five pounds, that I am just under thirty years of age, that I was one of the strongest men in college, and that up to a certain point I am, and always have been, one of the gentlest and best-natured individuals in the world.” “What do you mean by that?” blustered No. 8. “Gentlemen!” admonished the foreman. The automobile salesman stopped picking his teeth. “I am merely trying to convince you, Mr. Hooper, that there is a great deal more to be said for circumstantial evidence than you might think. You might go on forever thinking that I am a meek, spineless saphead, and on the other hand you might have it proved to you that I'm not. Please reflect on what I have just said. It can't do you any harm to reflect, Mr. Hooper.” “Oh, piffle!” said Mr. Hooper, getting very red in the face. “Sic 'em!” said No. 12, under his breath. “Moreover,” went on Sampson, smiling--but mirthlessly--“I am assuming that your exercises as a hat salesman are not such as one gets in a first-class gymnasium. I hope you will pardon me for asking you to repeat the word you just uttered. I think it was 'piffle.'” Mr. Hooper grinned. He didn't feel like grinning but something psychological told him to do it--and to do it as quickly as possible. “Aw, don't get sore, old man. Forget it!” “Certainly,” said Sampson. The foreman seized the opportunity. “There, now, that's better. At last we seem to Be getting together.” No. 7 spoke up. “This might be a good time to take another ballot. It's 'leven minutes to one by my watch. We stand 'leven to one. That's a good sign. Say, do you know that's pretty darned smart, if I do say it myself who--” “Let's have Mr. Sampson's revised views on the subject and then take a final ballot for tonight,” said the foreman, wearily. “I haven't revised my views,” said Sampson. There were several draughty sighs. “I've stated them five or six times to-night, and I see no reason to alter them now. Deeply as I regret it, I cannot conscientiously do anything but vote for a conviction.” “Now, listen to me once more, Mr. Sampson,” began the chubby bachelor. “I'll try to set you straight in--”