"No! I say no! An open
ballot! We are men, and as men are not afraid to put ourselves on
record."
A chorus of approval greeted him, and the open ballot began. Man after
man, called upon by name, spoke the one word, "Guilty."
Baron Courbertin came forward and whispered to Frona. She nodded her
head and smiled, and he edged his way back, taking up a position by the
door. He voted "Not guilty" when his turn came, as did Frona and Jacob
Welse. Pierre La Flitche wavered a moment, looking keenly at Frona and
St. Vincent, then spoke up, clear and flute-like, "Guilty."
As the chairman arose, Jacob Welse casually walked over to the opposite
side of the table and stood with his back to the stove. Courbertin,
who had missed nothing, pulled a pickle-keg out from the wall and
stepped upon it.
The chairman cleared his throat and rapped for order. "Gentlemen," he
announced, "the prisoner--"
"Hands up!" Jacob Welse commanded peremptorily, and a fraction of a
second after him came the shrill "Hands up, gentlemen!" of Courbertin.
Front and rear they commanded the crowd with their revolvers. Every
hand was in the air, the chairman's having gone up still grasping the
mallet. There was no disturbance. Each stood or sat in the same
posture as when the command went forth. Their eyes, playing here and
there among the central figures, always returned to Jacob Welse.
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