"And what could Jack Drew or we do? Study it out whatever way you like.
There was only one possible chance to help him, and that was to go
to the judge; and the judge that happened to be on that circuit
was a man who -- even if he did listen to the story and believe it --
would have felt inclined to give Jack all the more for what
he was charged with. Browne was out of the question.
The day before the trial I went for a long walk in the bush,
but couldn't hit on anything that the Doctor might have missed.

"I was in the court -- I couldn't keep away. The Doctor was there too.
There wasn't so much of a change in Jack as I expected,
only he had the gaol white in his face already. He stood fingering the rail,
as if it was the edge of a table on a platform and he was
a tired and bored and sleepy chairman waiting to propose a vote of thanks."

The only well-known man in Australia who reminds me of Mitchell is Bland Holt,
the comedian. Mitchell was about as good hearted as Bland Holt, too,
under it all; but he was bigger and roughened by the bush. But he seemed
to be taking a heavy part to-night, for, towards the end of his yarn,
he got up and walked up and down the length of my bed, dropping the sentences
as he turned towards me. He'd folded his arms high and tight,
and his face in the moonlight was -- well, it was very different
from his careless tone of voice. He was like -- like an actor
acting tragedy and talking comedy. Mitchell went on, speaking quickly --
his voice seeming to harden:

. . . . .

"The charge was read out -- I forget how it went -- it sounded