"About six weeks," answered the old lawyer quietly.

"What!" ejaculated judge and prosecutor in unison.

"A day or two less, perhaps," affirmed Mr. Tutt, "but, likely as not,
considerably longer."

"I shall cut it down as much as I can," announced the judge, appalled at
the prospect. "I shall not permit this trial to be dragged out
indefinitely."

"Nothing would please me better, Your Honor," said Mr. Tutt with the
shadow of a smile. "Shall we proceed to select the jury?"

The accuracy of Mr. Tutt's prophecy as to the probable length of the
trial was partially demonstrated when it developed that most of the
talesmen had a pronounced antipathy to Chinese murder cases, and a
deep-rooted prejudice against the race as a whole. In fact, a certain
subconscious influence affecting most of them was formulated by the
thirty-ninth talesman to be rejected, who, in a moment of resentment,
burst forth, "I don't mind trying decent American criminals, but I hold
it isn't any part of a citizen's duty to try Chinamen!" and was promptly
struck off the jury list.

"I say, chief," disgustedly declared O'Brien to Peckham at the noon
recess as they clinked glasses over the bar at Pont's, "you've handed me
a ripe, juicy Messina all right! I won't be able to get a jury. We've
been at it since ten o'clock and we haven't lured a single sucker into
the box!"