The door stood open,
and, as she paused to knock, the whole interior flashed upon her in an
astounding picture,--a cumulative picture, or series of pictures, as it
were. For first she was aware of a crowd of men, and of some great
common purpose upon which all were seriously bent. At her knock they
instinctively divided, so that a lane opened up, flanked by their
pressed bodies, to the far end of the room. And there, in the long
bunks on either side, sat two grave rows of men. And midway between,
against the wall, was a table. This table seemed the centre of
interest. Fresh from the sun-dazzle, the light within was dim and
murky, but she managed to make out a bearded American sitting by the
table and hammering it with a heavy caulking-mallet. And on the
opposite side sat St. Vincent. She had time to note his worn and
haggard face, before a man of Scandinavian appearance slouched up to
the table.
The man with the mallet raised his right hand and said glibly, "You do
most solemnly swear that what you are about to give before the
court--" He abruptly stopped and glowered at the man before him.
"Take off your hat!" he roared, and a snicker went up from the crowd as
the man obeyed.
Then he of the mallet began again. "You do most solemnly swear that
what you are about to give before the court shall be the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
The Scandinavian nodded and dropped his hand.
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