beard into his mouth and chewed savagely. He was the one, of course, who had been voting for acquittal; his was the hand that had written in that Continental script those dissenting words, "Not guilty." When this became known, the others had gathered round him, trying to beat him down, and finally, giving way to anger, had shaken their fists in his face, reviled him, and called him ugly names. But all the while he had shaken his head and shouted: "No! no! no! no!" For a while he had argued against Archie’s guilt, then against the methods of the police, at last, had begged for mercy on the boy. But this last appeal only made them angry. "Mercy!" they said. "Did he show that old woman any mercy?" "He isn’t being triedt for der old woman," said Reder. "Dot’s what the chudge saidt." "Well, then. Did he show Kouka any mercy?" "Bah!" shouted Reder. "Did Kouka show him any?" "But Kouka"--they insisted. "_Ach_! To hell mit all o’ you!" cried Reder, and began to stalk the floor. "The Dutch dog!" said one. "The stubborn brute!" grumbled another. "Keeping us all up here, and making us lose our sleep!" "I tell you," said another, "the jury system ought to be changed, so’s a majority would rule!" "It’s no use, it’s no use," Reder said in a high petulant voice; "you only make me vorse; you only make me vorse!" He held his hands up and shook them loosely, his fingers vibrating with great rapidity. Then it was still for a long while--but in the dark and empty court-room, where the bailiff slept on one of the seats, sharp, unnatural, cracking noises were heard now and then; and from it emanated the strange weird influence of the night and darkness. Through the window they looked on the court-house yard lying cold and white under the blaze of the electric lamps. The wind swept down the bleak deserted street. Once they heard a policeman’s whistle. Osgood was snoring loudly. "Great God!" shouted Duncan irritably. "Can’t some of you make him stop that?" Church got up and gave Osgood’s chair a rude kick. "Huh?" Osgood started up, staring about wildly. Then he came to his senses, looked around, understood, fell back and went to sleep again. And Reder tramped up and down, and Broadwell sat and glared at him, and the others waited. Reder was thinking of that time of his boyhood in Germany when the old peasant had been tried for setting the wood afire. The whole scene had come back to him, and he found a fascination in recalling one by one every detail, until each stood out vividly and distinctly in his mind. He paced on, until, after a while, Broadwell spoke again. "Mr. Reder," he said, "I don’t see how you can assume the position you do." "It’s no use, I tol’ you; no use!" "But look here," Broadwell insisted, getting up and trying to stop Reder. He took him by the lapel of his coat, forced him to stand an instant, and when Reder yielded, and stood still, the other jurors looked up with some hope. "Tell me why--"