The business of the day went forward in the usual way with all the red

tape, the cool formalities, as if some trifling matter were at stake,

and those who loved Mark sat with aching hearts and waited. The Severns

in their corner sat for the most part with bended heads and praying

hearts. The witnesses for the prosecution were most of them companions

of the dead man, those who had drank and caroused with him, frequenters

of the Blue Duck, and they were herded together, an evil looking crowd,

but with erect heads and defiant attitude, the air of having donned

unaccustomed garments of righteousness for the occasion, and making a

great deal of it because for once every one must see that they were in

the right. They were fairly loud mouthed in their boasting about it.

There was the little old wizened up fellow that had been sitting with

the drinks outside the booth the night Billy telephoned. There were the

serving men who had waited on Mark and Cherry. There was the proprietor

of the Blue Duck himself, who testified that Mark had often been there

with Cherry, though always early in the evening. Once he had caught him

outside the window looking in at the dancers as late as two o'clock at

night, the same window from which the shot was fired that brought Dolph

to his death. They testified that Mark had been seen with Cherry much

of late driving in his car, and that she had often been in deep

converse as if having a hot argument about something.

The feeling was tense in the court room. Tears were in many eyes,

hopeless tears in the eyes of those who had loved the boy for years.

But the grilling order marched on, and witness after witness came,

adding another and another little touch to the gradually rising

structure that would shut Mark Carter away from the world that loved

him and that he loved forever.

Cherry was called, a flaunting bit of a child with bobbed golden hair

and the air of a bold young seraph, her white face bravely painted, her

cherry lips cherrier even than the cherry for which she had been named.

She wore a silk coat reaching to the bottom of her frock, which was

shorter than the shortest, and daring little high-heeled many strapped

shoes with a myriad of bright buckles. Her hat was an insolent affair

of cherry red. She made a blinding bit of color in the dreary court

room. She appeared half frightened, half defiant. Her sharp little face

seemed to have lost its round curves and childlike sweetness. She

testified that she had been with Mark on the night of the shooting, but

that he had taken her home early and she had seen no more of him that

night. She admitted that she had returned later to the Blue Duck Tavern

with Dolph and had danced late and eaten supper with him afterwards,

and that it was while they were eating that the shot was fired and

Dolph fell over on the table. No, she didn't see any face at the

window. She had covered her face with her hands and screamed. She

guessed she fainted. Questioned further she admitted that she had had

an argument with Mark earlier in the evening, but she "didn't remember

what it was about." They often argued. Yes, Dolph was jealous of Mark

and tried to stop her going with him. Yes, Mark had tried to stop her

going with Dolph too, but he never acted jealous--On and on through the

sorry little details of Cherry's career. The court room vultures

receiving it avidly, the more refined part of the company with distaste

and disgust. Mark sat with stern white face looking straight at Cherry

all the time she was on the stand as if he dared her to say other than

the truth. When she happened to look that way she gave a giggling

little shudder and half turned her shoulder away, avoiding his eyes.

But when she was done she had said nothing against Mark, and nothing to

clear him either.




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