"Mr. Robertson?"
"Never!" said I.
"Mr. Smugg?"
"I seed 'im this very morning!" cried Joe, like an accusing
angel.
Smugg took his hand away from his face, after giving his wet brow
one last dab. He looked at Gayford and at Joe, but said nothing.
"Mr. Smugg?" repeated the chairman.
"Mr. Smugg," interposed Tritton suavely, "probably feels himself
in a difficulty. The secret is not, perhaps, entirely his own."
We all nodded.
"We enter a plea of not guilty for Mr. Smugg," observed the
chairman gravely.
"I seed 'im do it," said Joe.
No one spoke. Joe finished his beer, pulled his forelock, and
turned on his heel. Suddenly Smugg burst into speech. He could
hardly form his words, and they jostled one another in the
breathless confusion of his utterance.
"I--I--you've no right. I say nothing. If I choose, I shall--no
one has a right to stop me. If I love her--if she doesn't mind--
I say nothing--nothing at all. I won't hear a word. I shall do
as I like."
Joe had paused to hear him, and now stood looking at him in
wonder. Then he stepped quickly up to the table, and, leaning
across, asked in a harsh voice:
"You mean honest, do you, by her? You'd make her your wife,
would you?"
Smugg, looking straight in front of him, answered:
"Yes."
Joe drew back, touched his forelock again, and said:
"Then it's fair fighting, sir, begging your pardon; and no
offense.
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