The last witness of the week was Felice Guadagni, the comrade who had been first to visit Sacco and Vanzetti at the Brockton police station. He confirmed Sacco’s April 15 alibi, telling how the two of them had met by chance on the steps of Boni’s Restaurant at 11:30 A.M. Sacco, he said, was wearing a derby and a dark suit. They had gone in together and were later joined by Bosco and Williams. Guadagni had come out of Boni’s with Sacco at 1:30. He had then gone back to his office at the _Gazzetta del Massachusetts_ and Sacco had gone uptown to the consulate. About three in the afternoon he had seen Sacco again in Joe Giordano’s café. Guadagni recalled the date of his meeting with Sacco as the fifteenth because on that day he had been invited to a banquet given by the Franciscan Fathers of North Bennett Street in honor of Mr. Williams, the _Transcript_ editor, who had just been made a _Commandante_. Four or five days after Sacco’s arrest Guadagni had gone to the consulate with Rosina, taking along a photograph of Sacco. There they had talked with the acting consul and the vice-consul and the clerk Adrower, but by the archaic rule of law—so frustrating to laymen—Guadagni was not allowed to repeat what had been said. Under cross-examination he admitted that he had seen Sacco in Boston on several other days, always wearing the derby and the dark suit. He could not, however, recall any specific dates. When Sacco came into Giordano’s Café, Guadagni was already there talking about the banquet. He had not attended it, but since it was the only banquet to which he had ever been invited, he could not help but remember it. The invitation had come the week before—he could not fix the date. Court adjourned just before one o’clock and the jurors were left alone in the marble courthouse to face another Saturday afternoon and Sunday. They were almost certain, however, that this would be the last weekend they would be kept in Dedham. Judge Thayer spent his weekends in Worcester. There, at the familiar golf club, he could join a foursome and forget the incidents and frustrations of the past week. In the clubhouse after the game, in the protecting company of his friends, he found a cathartic relief in saying just what he really thought about those Bolsheviki who were trying to intimidate him. Nobody, he told his friend Loring Coes, could intimidate Web Thayer. A bunch of parlor radicals were trying to get those Italian bastards off and trying to bring pressure on the bench. He would show them, he told Coes, his face darkening with accumulated anger. He would see them hanged, and he would also like to hang a few dozen of the radicals.