Ike caught his breath. “A friend in the family!” He did not dare to think what that meant. And Wickliff had gone. They were examining the prosecuting witnesses. Miss Mysilla Beaumont took the oath, plainly frightened. She spoke almost in a whisper. Her evident desire to deal gently with the Armstrongs was used skilfully by the young attorney whom John Perley (his uncle) had employed. Behold (he made poor Mysie’s evidence seem to say) what ear-rending and nerve-shattering sounds these barbarous organists must have produced to make this amiable lady protest at law! Mysie fluttered out of the witness-box in a tremor, nor dared to look where Mrs. Armstrong sat bridling and fanning herself. Next three Fullers deposed to more or less disturbance from the musical taste of the Armstrongs, and the Delaney daughter swore, in a clarion voice, that the playing of the Armstrongs was the worst ever known. “It ain’t any worse than her scales!” cried Mrs. Armstrong, goaded into speech. The magistrate darted a warning glance at her. Miss Henriette Beaumont was called last. Her mourning garments, to masculine eyes, did not show their age; and her grand manner and handsome face, with its gray hair and its flashing eyes, caused even the magistrate’s manner to change. Henriette had a rich voice and a beautiful articulation. Every softly spoken word reached Mrs. Armstrong, who writhed in her seat. She recited how she had spent hours of “absolute torment” under the Armstrong instrumentation, and she described in the language of the musician the unspeakable iniquities of the Armstrong technique. Her own lawyer could not understand her, but the magistrate nodded in sympathy. She said she was unable to sleep nights because of the “horrible discords played on the organ—” “I declare we never played it but two nights, and they weren’t discords; they were nice tunes,” sobbed Mrs. Armstrong. The justice rapped and frowned. “Silence in der court!” he thundered. Then he glared on poor Mrs. Armstrong. “Anybody vot calls hisself a laty ought to behave itself like sooch!” he said, with strong emphasis. The attorneys present choked and coughed. In fact, the remark passed into a saying in police-court circles. Miss Henriette stepped with stately graciousness to her seat. “Und now der defence,” said the justice—“der Armstrong family. Vot has you got to say?” “Let me put some witnesses on first, Judge,” called Wickliff, “to show the Armstrongs’ character.” He was opening the door, and the hall behind seemed filled. “Oh, good land, Ikey, do look!” quavered Mrs. Armstrong; “there’s pa’s boss, and the Martins that used to live in the same block with us, and Mrs. O’Toole, and all the neighbors most up to the East End, and—oh, Ikey! there’s Miss Pauline herself! Our friends ’ain’t deserted us; I knew perfectly well they _wouldn’t_!” Ike did look up then—he stood up. His eyes met the eyes of his sweetheart, and he sat down with his cheeks afire and his head in the air.