n denied before them in present
trial.

As he said this the pink-and-white baboon looked at them steadily and
significantly for several seconds over his eyeglasses. They should
consider the business card which the defendant had given to the
complaining witness and in which he held himself out as a veterinary.
The testimony of the complainant stood uncontradicted. The complainant
was not an accomplice and his testimony did not have to be corroborated.
A decoy wasn't an accomplice. That was the law. Neither was what had
passed between the complainant and defendant privileged as a
confidential communication, because the complainant was not a physician.
That was all there was to that!

They should ask themselves what in fact the defendant had done if not
practise veterinary medicine without a license? It was not controverted
but that he had said he was a veterinary, administered medicine to a
sick horse, offered to compound payment for medical treatment for
himself, finally taken five dollars, and admitted his guilt before the
magistrate. If they had any reasonable doubt--and such a doubt might of
course be raised by evidence of previous good character--they would of
course give it to the defendant and acquit him, but such a doubt must be
no mere whim, guess or conjecture that the defendant might not after all
be guilty even if the evidence seemed so to demonstrate; it must be a
substantial doubt based on the evidence and such a one as would
influence them in the important matters of their own daily, domestic and
business lives. That was all there was to it! Let them take the case and
decide it! It should not take 'em very long. The question of how the
defendant should be punished, if at all, did not concern them. He would
take care of that. They might safely leave it to him! He bowed and
turned to his papers. The jury gathered up their coats and straggled
after Cap Phelan out of the court room.

"Y'd be all right, counselor," remarked the second court officer,
suspending momentarily the delights of mastication, "if 'twasn't fer
that son of a gun on the back row, Gibson! He's a bad one! I've known
him for years! He'd convict his own mother of petit larceny!"

"So? So?" murmured Mr. Tutt, producing a leather case the size of a
doctor's instrument bag from his inside pocket and removing a couple of
stogies therefrom. "Well, it's too late now to do anything about it. I'm
going out to stretch my legs and have a smoke."

M