“You'd better shake and make up,” the Prosecuting Attorney repeated, and this time there was almost a threat in his voice. The trials of both men were set for a week later, on the same morning, in Police Judge Witberg's court. “You have no chance,” Watson was told by an old friend of his boyhood, the retired manager of the biggest paper in the city. “Everybody knows you were beaten up by this man. His reputation is most unsavory. But it won't help you in the least. Both cases will be dismissed. This will be because you are you. Any ordinary man would be convicted.” “But I do not understand,” objected the perplexed sociologist. “Without warning I was attacked by this man; and badly beaten. I did not strike a blow. I--” “That has nothing to do with it,” the other cut him off. “Then what is there that has anything to do with it?” “I'll tell you. You are now up against the local police and political machine. Who are you? You are not even a legal resident in this town. You live up in the country. You haven't a vote of your own here. Much less do you swing any votes. This dive proprietor swings a string of votes in his precincts--a mighty long string.” “Do you mean to tell me that this Judge Witberg will violate the sacredness of his office and oath by letting this brute off?” Watson demanded. “Watch him,” was the grim reply. “Oh, he'll do it nicely enough. He will give an extra-legal, extra-judicial decision, abounding in every word in the dictionary that stands for fairness and right.” “But there are the newspapers,” Watson cried. “They are not fighting the administration at present. They'll give it to you hard. You see what they have already done to you.” “Then these snips of boys on the police detail won't write the truth?” “They will write something so near like the truth that the public will believe it. They write their stories under instruction, you know. They have their orders to twist and color, and there won't be much left of you when they get done. Better drop the whole thing right now. You are in bad.” “But the trials are set.” “Give the word and they'll drop them now. A man can't fight a machine unless he has a machine behind him.” III But Carter Watson was stubborn. He was convinced that the machine would beat him, but all his days he had sought social experience, and this was certainly something new. The morning of the trial the Prosecuting Attorney made another attempt to patch up the affair. “If you feel that way, I should like to get a lawyer to prosecute the case,” said Watson. “No, you don't,” said the Prosecuting Attorney. “I am paid by the People to prosecute, and prosecute I will. But let me tell you. You have no chance. We shall lump both cases into one, and you watch out.”