court, the place was packed with people and even the windows were full.
Everybody was, flushed and perspiring; the summer heat was almost
unendurable.

Tom Driscoll had brought a charge of assault and battery against the
twins. Robert Allen was retained by Driscoll, David Wilson by the
defense. Tom, his native cheerfulness unannihilated by his back-breaking
and bone-bruising passage across the massed heads of the Sons of Liberty
the previous night, laughed his little customary laugh, and said to
Wilson:

"I've kept my promise, you see; I'm throwing my business your way.
Sooner than I was expecting, too."

"It's very good of you--particularly if you mean to keep it up."

"Well, I can't tell about that yet. But we'll see. If I find you
deserve it I'll take you under my protection and make your fame and
fortune for you."

"I'll try to deserve it, Tom."

A jury was sworn in; then Mr. Allen said:

"We will detain your honor but a moment with this case. It is not one
where any doubt of the fact of the assault can enter in. These
gentlemen--the accused--kicked my client at the Market Hall last night;
they kicked him with violence; with extraordinary violence; with even
unprecedented violence, I may say; insomuch that he was lifted entirely
off his feet and discharged into the midst of the audience. We can prove