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He was submissive to the consequences: he was still loyal.And now Joe asked him to tell "just what happened," and Happy obeyed with crystal clearness.Throughout the long, tricky cross-examination he continued to tell "just what happened" with a plaintive truthfulness not to be imitated, and throughout it Joe guarded him from pitfalls (for lawyers in their search after truth are compelled by the exigencies of their profession to make pitfalls even for the honest), and gave him, by various devices, time to remember, though not to think, and made the words "come right" in his mouth.So that before the sitting was over, a disquieting rumor ran through the waiting crowd in the corridors, across the Square, and over the town, that the case was surely going "Louden's way." This was also the opinion of a looker-on in Canaan--a ferret-faced counsellor of corporations who, called to consultation with the eminent Buckalew (nephew of the Squire), had afterward spent an hour in his company at the trial."It's going that young fellow Louden's way," said the stranger."You say he's a shyster, but--""Well," admitted Buckalew, with some reluctance, "I don't mean that exactly.I've got an old uncle who seems lately to think he's a great man.""I'll take your uncle's word for it," returned the other, smiling."I think he'll go pretty far."They had come to the flight of steps which descended to the yard,--and the visitor, looking down upon the angry crowd, added, "If they don't kill him!"Joe himself was anxious concerning no such matter.He shook hands with Happy at the end of the sitting, bidding him be of good cheer, and, when the little man had marched away, under a strong guard, began to gather and sort his papers at a desk inside the bar.This took him perhaps five minutes, and when he had finished there were only three people left in the room: a clerk, a negro janitor with a broom, and the darky friend who always hopefully accompanies a colored man holding high public office.These two approvingly greeted the young lawyer, the janitor handing him a note from Norbert Flitcroft, and the friend mechanically "borrowing" a quarter from him as he opened the envelope.

"I'll be roun' yo' way to git a box o' SE-gahs,"laughed the friend, "soon ez de campaign open up good.Dey all goin' vote yo' way, down on the levee bank, but dey sho' expecks to git to smoke a little 'fo' leckshun-day! We knows who's OWfrien'!"Norbert's missive was lengthy and absorbing;Joe went on his way, perusing it with profound attention; but as he descended the stairway to the floor below, a loud burst of angry shouting, outside the building, caused him to hasten toward the big front doors which faced Main Street.The doors opened upon an imposing vestibule, from which a handsome flight of stone steps, protected by a marble balustrade, led to the ground.

Standing at the top of these steps and leaning over the balustrade, he had a clear view of half the yard.No one was near him; everybody was running in the opposite direction, toward that corner of the yard occupied by the jail, the crowd centring upon an agitated whirlpool of men which moved slowly toward a door in the high wall that enclosed the building; and Joe saw that Happy Fear's guards, conducting the prisoner back to his cell, were being jostled and rushed.The distance they had made was short, but as they reached the door the pressure upon them increased dangerously.

Clubs rose in the air, hats flew, the whirlpool heaved tumultuously, and the steel door clanged.