reluctance to be the person who speaks first.

It was the foreman's duty, under these circumstances, to treat
his deliberative brethren as we treat our watches when they stop:
he wound the jury up and set them going.

"Gentlemen," he began, "have you formed any decided opinion on
the case--thus far?"

Some of them said "Yes," and some of them said "No." The little
drowsy man said nothing. The fretful invalid cried, "Go on!" The
nervous juryman suddenly rose. His brethren all looked at him,
inspired by the same fear of having got an orator among them. He
was an essentially polite man; and he hastened to relieve their
minds. "Pray don't be alarmed, gentlemen: I am not going to make
a speech. I suffer from fidgets. Excuse me if I occasionally
change my position." The hungry juryman (who dined early) looked
at his watch. "Half-past four," he said. "For Heaven's sake cut
it short." He was the fattest person present; and he suggested a
subject to the inattentive juryman who drew pictures on his
blotting-paper. Deeply interested in the progress of the
likeness, his neighbors on either side looked over his shoulders.
The little drowsy man woke with a start, and begged pardon of
everybody. The fretful invalid said to himself, "Damned fools,
all of them!" The patient foreman, biding his time, stated the
case.

"The prisoner waiting our verdict, gentlemen, is the Honorable
Roderick Westerfield, younger brother of the present Lord Le
Basque. He is charged with willfully casting away the British