"I don't think you have any right to insult a man in his own
house," answered Slade, in a voice dropped to a lower key than the
one in which he had before spoken.

"I had no intention to insult you," said the other. "I was only
speaking supposititiously, and in view of your position on a trial
for manslaughter, when I suggested that no one could prove, or say
that you didn't mean to strike little Mary, when you threw the
tumbler."

"Well, I didn't mean to strike her: and I don't believe there is a
man in this bar-room who thinks that I did--not one."

"I'm sure I do not," said the individual with whom he was in
controversy. "Nor I"--"Nor I" went round the room.

"But, as I wished to set forth," was continued, "the case will not
be so plain a one when it finds its way into court, and twelve
men, to each of whom you may be a stranger, come to sit in
judgment upon the act. The slightest twist in the evidence, the
prepossessions of a witness, or the bad tact of the prosecution,
may cause things to look so dark on your side as to leave you but
little chance. For my part, if the child should die, I think your
chances for a term in the state's prison are as eight to ten; and
I should call that pretty close cutting."

I looked attentively at the man who said this, all the while he
was speaking, but could not clearly make out whether he were
altogether in earnest, or merely trying to worry the mind of
Slade. That he was successful in accomplishing the latter, was