But there he was at it again! Why couldn't he put her out of his thoughts? Why was he continually thinking of the day when he would see the last of her? And what a conceited fool he had been! She had been most impartial with her mute favours. Every man on the jury was figuratively and literally in the same boat with him. Each one of them believed as he believed: that he was the one special object of interest to her. But still--he was quite sure--she _had_ communed with him a little more--was he justified in using the word?--intimately than with the others? Surely he could not be mistaken in his belief that she looked upon him as a trifle superior to--But some one was nudging him violently. “Wake up, Mr. Sampson,” a voice was saying--a voice that was vaguely familiar. It was a coarse, unfeminine voice. “We're ready to take a ballot before we go out to breakfast. Want to wash up first or will you--” “What time is it?” muttered Sampson, starting up from his chair. Was it the chair that creaked, or was it his bones? He was stiff and sore and horribly unwieldy. “Half past seven,” said the foreman. Then Sampson recognised the voice that had interrupted his personal confession. Moreover, he recognised the unshaven countenance. It was really quite a shock, coming so closely upon... “You've been hitting it up pretty soundly. No. 7 says he didn't sleep a wink. Afraid to risk it, he says.” At eight o'clock an attendant rapped on the door and told them to get ready to go out to breakfast. “Go away!” shouted the foreman. He was in the midst of an argument with No. 7 when the interruption came, and he was getting the better of it. “I'm willing to go half way,” said No. 7 dreamily. “Hungry as I am, I'll go half way. I've got the darnedest headache on earth. If I had a cup of coffee maybe I'd--” “What do you mean half way?” exploded Mr. Hooper. “You can't render a half-way verdict, can you?” The ballot had just been taken. It stood eleven to one for conviction! This time No. 7 was the unit. “No,” said the dreamy No. 7, unoffended. “What I want to do is to make it as light for him as possible. Can't we find him guilty of embezzlement in the third degree or--” Sampson interrupted. He too wanted his coffee. “Let's have our breakfast. Afterwards we can discuss--” “I want to settle it now,” roared Mr. Hooper. “It's all nonsense talking about breakfast while--” “Well, then,” said Sampson, “suppose we agree to find him guilty as charged and recommend him to the mercy of the Court.” This was hailed with acclaim. Even No. 7, emerging temporarily from his mental siesta, agreed that that was “a corking idea.” “Find him guilty,” he explained, satisfying himself at least, “and then ask the Court to discharge him. Maybe a little lecture would do him good. A few words of advice--”