mon folk were forced to take the mattress from the
bed and spread it on the floor at the front door in order to get a
partial breath of air. The atmosphere was close and heavy under the
trees tonight, and some commented on the fact as they passed on toward
the public square where yet further separations of the scattered groups
must ensue.

They passed along a street lined by residence houses, some small, others
large, all hedged about with shrubs or trees, all with little flower
beds; a certain conformity to accepted canons in good taste being
exacted of all who dwelt in the village. Each one of this dispersing
assemblage knew his neighbor, and all the other neighbors of the town.
This was general plebiscite. Moreover, it seemed to have a certain
purpose--an ultimate purpose of justice.

This was the actual jury of peers--this long stream of halting,
hesitating figures who at midnight strolled on across the patch-work
shadows of the maples. And before it had come on for trial the case of
Aurora Lane and her unfathered boy.

"Look at them go!" said Old Hod Brooks, chuckling bitterly to himself as
he and his companions turned toward the public square, this same thought
occurring to him. "For instance, there's an even dozen just ahead of us
now, if we cared to poll them."

Had this jury been polled it might have been found in some part
resembling the original concourse which filled Noah's ark, since for the
most part they walked two and two. Ben McQuaid, traveling salesman--the
deadly rival of Jerome Westbrook in matters of fashion--who traveled out
of Chicago but had his home in Spring Valley, because it was cheaper
living there--walked now arm in arm with Newman, the clothing merchant
of the Golden Eagle. He inquired solicitously as to the condition of
business. Newman said he "gouldn't gomplaim, though gollections mide be
better." But that was not in the least what both were thinking of at
that time.

"Seems like there was a little rukus on the square today," said McQuaid
casually. "I just heard of it--Number Four come in a little late today."

"Vell, yes," said Newman, looking around to see that he might not be
heard. "I ain't saying a vord about it--but listen, that kid has the
punch in either hand--the last time you should have seen it--you see,
they got at it twice now already----"

They drew apart, because they now saw approaching them too closely at
the rear two of the ministers of the gospel. These found