the more ostentatious information of the defendant’s counsel, Messrs. Kitcham and Bilser, that the case was “ridiculous” and “rotten,” that the plaintiff would be nonsuited, and the fire-eating Starbottle would be taught a lesson that he could not “bully” the law, and there were some dark hints of a conspiracy.  It was even hinted that the “case” was the revengeful and preposterous outcome of the refusal of Hotchkiss to pay Starbottle an extravagant fee for his late services to the Ditch Company.  It is unnecessary to say that these words were not reported to the Colonel.  It was, however, an unfortunate circumstance for the calmer, ethical consideration of the subject that the Church sided with Hotchkiss, as this provoked an equal adherence to the plaintiff and Starbottle on the part of the larger body of non-churchgoers, who were delighted at a possible exposure of the weakness of religious rectitude.  “I’ve allus had my suspicions o’ them early candle-light meetings down at that gospel shop,” said one critic, “and I reckon Deacon Hotchkiss didn’t rope in the gals to attend jest for psalm-singing.”  “Then for him to get up and leave the board afore the game’s finished and try to sneak out of it,” said an other,—­“I suppose that’s what they call religious.”

It was therefore not remarkable that the court-house three weeks later was crowded with an excited multitude of the curious and sympathizing.  The fair plaintiff, with her mother, was early in attendance, and under the Colonel’s advice appeared in the same modest garb in which she had first visited his office.  This and her downcast, modest demeanor were perhaps at first disappointing to the crowd, who had evidently expected a paragon of loveliness in this Circe of that grim, ascetic defendant, who sat beside his counsel.  But presently all eyes were fixed on the Colonel, who certainly made up in his appearance any deficiency of his fair client.  His portly figure was clothed in a blue dress coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat which permitted his frilled shirt-front to become erectile above it, a black satin stock which confined a boyish turned-down collar around his full neck, and immaculate drill trousers, strapped over varnished boots.  A murmur ran round the court.  “Old ‘Personally Responsible’ has got his war-paint on;” “The Old War-Horse is smelling powder,” were whispered comments.  Yet for all that, the most irreverent among them recognized vaguely, in this bizarre figure, something of an honored past in their country’s history, and possibly felt the spell of old deeds and old names that had once thrilled their boyish pulses.  The new District Judge returned Colonel Starbottle’s profoundly punctilious bow.  The Colonel was followed by his negro servant, carrying a parcel of hymn-books and Bibles, who, with a courtesy evidently imitated from his master, placed one before the opposite counsel.  This, after a first curious glance, the lawyer somewhat superciliously tossed aside.  But when Jim, proceeding to the jury-box, placed with equal politeness the remaining copies before the jury, the opposite counsel sprang to his feet.