When Judge Bender entered the court room it was, in spite of his injunction, full of blue blouses. A special panel of two hundred talesmen filled the first half dozen rows of benches, the others being occupied by witnesses both Chinese and white, policemen and the miscellaneous human flotsam and jetsam that always manages somehow or other to find its way to a murder trial. Inside the rail O'Brien, the assistant district attorney, was busy in conversation with three cueless Chinamen in American clothes. At the bar sat Mock Hen with Mr. Tutt beside him, flanked by Wong Get, Tutt, Bonnie Doon and Buddha. The judge beckoned Mr. Tutt and O'Brien to the front of the bench. "Is there any chance of disposing of this case by a plea?" he inquired. O'Brien looked expectantly at Mr. Tutt, who shook his head. The judge shrugged his shoulders. "Well, how long is it going to take?" "About six weeks," answered the old lawyer quietly. "What!" ejaculated judge and prosecutor in unison. "A day or two less, perhaps," affirmed Mr. Tutt, "but, likely as not, considerably longer." "I shall cut it down as much as I can," announced the judge, appalled at the prospect. "I shall not permit this trial to be dragged out indefinitely." "Nothing would please me better, Your Honor," said Mr. Tutt with the shadow of a smile. "Shall we proceed to select the jury?" The accuracy of Mr. Tutt's prophecy as to the probable length of the trial was partially demonstrated when it developed that most of the talesmen had a pronounced antipathy to Chinese murder cases, and a deep-rooted prejudice against the race as a whole. In fact, a certain subconscious influence affecting most of them was formulated by the thirty-ninth talesman to be rejected, who, in a moment of resentment, burst forth, "I don't mind trying decent American criminals, but I hold it isn't any part of a citizen's duty to try Chinamen!" and was promptly struck off the jury list. "I say, chief," disgustedly declared O'Brien to Peckham at the noon recess as they clinked glasses over the bar at Pont's, "you've handed me a ripe, juicy Messina all right! I won't be able to get a jury. We've been at it since ten o'clock and we haven't lured a single sucker into the box!" "What's the matter?" inquired the D.A. apprehensively. "I can't quite make out," answered O'Brien. "But most of 'em seem to have a sort of idea that to kill a Chinaman ain't a crime but a virtue!" "Well, don't tell anybody," whispered Peckham, "but I'm somewhat of that way of thinking myself. Set 'em up again, John!"