Marriott argued, expostulated, pleaded, but in vain. The boy only shook his head and said over and over, each time with a new access of terror: "No, Eades would tear me to pieces." "Come on, Gordon," called Glassford, who had finished his cigar, "we can’t wait any longer." The following morning, the defense having put in its evidence and rested, Lamborn began the opening argument for the State. It had long been Lamborn’s ambition to make a speech that would last a whole day. He had made copious notes, and when he succeeded in speaking a full half-hour without referring to them, he was greatly encouraged. When he was compelled finally to succumb, and consult his notes, he began to review the evidence, that is, he repeated what the witnesses had already told. After that he began to fail noticeably in ideas and frequently glanced at the clock, but he thought of the statutes, and he read to the jury the laws defining murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, and manslaughter, and then declaring that the crime Archie had committed was clearly murder in the first degree, he closed by urging the jury to find him guilty of this crime. In the afternoon Pennell opened the arguments for the defense. Having won the oratorical contest at college, and having once been spoken of in print as the silver-tongued, Pennell pitched his voice in the highest key, and soon filled the court-room with a prodigious noise; he had not spoken fifteen minutes before he had lashed himself into a fury, and with each new, fresh burst of enthusiasm, he raised his hoarse voice higher and higher, until the throats of his hearers ached in sympathy. But at the end of two hours he ceased to wave his arms, no longer struck the bar of the jury-box with his fist, the strain died away, and he sank into his chair, his hair disheveled, his brow and neck and wrists glistening with perspiration, utterly exhausted, but still wearing the oratorical scowl. All this time Eades and Marriott were lying back in their chairs, in the attitudes of counsel who are reserving themselves for the great and telling efforts of the trial, that is, the closing arguments. When Marriott arose the next morning to begin his address, the silence was profound. He looked about him, at Glassford, at Eades, at the crowd, straining with curious, gleaming eyes. In the overflowing line of men within the bar on either side of the jury-box he recognized several lawyers; their faces were white against the wall; they seemed strange, unnatural, out of place. The jury were uneasy and glanced away, and though Broadwell lifted his small eyes to him, it was without response or sympathy. Marriott was chilled by the patent opposition. Then, somehow, he detected old man Reder stealing a glance at Archie; he kept his eye on Reder. What was Reder thinking of? "Thinking, I suppose," thought Marriott, "that this settles it, and that there is nothing to do now but to send Archie to the chair."