When Peter stepped into the witness box he felt as Tom Duggan and Donald Gordon must have felt that night when the white glare from thirty or forty automobiles3 was beating upon them. Peter felt the concentrated Red hate of two or three hundred spectators, and now and then their pent-up fury would break restraint; there would be a murmur5 of protest, or perhaps a wave of sneering6 laughter, and the bailiff would bang on the table with his wooden mallet7, and the judge would half rise from his seat, and declare that if that happened again he would order the court-room cleared.
Not far in front of Peter at a long table sat the seventeen defendants8, looking like trapped rats, and every one of their thirty-four rat eyes were fixed9 upon Peter’s face, and never moved from it. Peter only glanced that way once; they bared their rats’ teeth at him, and he quickly looked in another direction. But there also he saw a face that brought him no comfort; there sat Mrs. Godd, in her immaculate white chiffons, her wide-open blue eyes fixed upon his face, her expression full of grief and reproach. “Oh, Mr. Gudge!” she seemed to be saying. “How can you? Mr. Gudge, is this Peace. . . justice. . . Truth. . . Law?” And Peter realized with a pang10 that he had cut himself off forever from Mount Olympus, and from the porch chair with the soft silken pillows! He turned away toward the box where sat the twelve jurymen and women. One old lady gave him a benevolent11 smile, and a young farmer gave him a sly wink12, so Peter knew that he had friends in that quarter—and after all, they were the ones who really counted in this trial. Mrs. Godd was as helpless as any “wobbly,” in the presence of this august court.
Peter told his story, and then came his cross-questioning, and who should rise and start the job but David Andrews, suave13 and humorous and deadly. Peter had always been afraid of Andrews, and now he winced14. Nobody had told him he was to face an ordeal15 like this! Nobody had told him that Andrews would be allowed to question him about every detail of these crimes which he said he had witnessed, and about all the conversations that had taken place, and who else was present, and what else had been said, and how he had come to be there, and what he had done afterwards, and what he had had to eat for breakfast that morning. Only two things saved Peter, first the constant rapid-fire of objections which Stannard kept making, to give Peter time to think; and second, the cyclone-cellar which Stannard had provided for him in advance. “You can always fail to remember,” the deputy had said; “nobody can punish you for forgetting something.” So Peter would repeat the minute details of a conversation in which Alf Guinness had told of burning down the barn, but he didn’t remember who else had heard the conversation, and he didn’t remember what else had been said, nor what was the date of the conversation.
Then came the blessed hour of noon, with a chance for Peter to get fixed up again before the court resumed at two. He was questioned again by Stannard, who patched up all the gaps in his testimony16, and then again he failed to remember things, and so avoided the traps which Andrews set for his feet. He was told that he had “done fine,” and was escorted back to the Hotel de Soto in triumph, and there for a week he stayed while the defense17 made a feeble effort to answer his testimony. Peter read in the papers the long speeches in which the district attorney and the deputy acclaimed18 him as a patriot19, protecting his country from its “enemies within;” also he read a brief reference to the “tirade” of David Andrews, who had called him a “rat” and a “slinking Judas.” Peter didn’t mind that, of course—it was all part of the game, and the calling of names is a pretty sure sign of impotence.
Less easy to accept placidly20, however, was something which came to Peter that same day—a letter from Mrs. Godd! It wasn’t written to him, but he saw Hammett and another of the “bulls” chuckling21 together, and he asked what was the joke, and they told him that Mrs. Godd had somehow found out about Guffey, and had written him a letter full of insults, and Guffey was furious. Peter asked what was in it, and they told him, and later on when he insisted, they brought it and showed it to him, and Peter was furious too. On very expensive stationery22 with a stately crest23 at the top, the mother of Mount Olympus had written in a large, bland24, girlish hand her opinion of “under cover” men and those who hired them:
“You sit like a big spider and weave a net to catch men and destroy them. You destroy alike your victims and your tools. The poor boy, Peter Gudge, whom you sent to my home—my heart bleeds when I think of him, and what you have put him up to! A wretched, feeble-minded victim of greed, who ought to be sent to a hospital for deformed25 souls, you have taken him and taught him a piece of villainy to recite, so that he may send a group of sincere idealists to prison.”
That was enough! Peter put down the letter—he would not dignify26 such stuff by reading it. He realized that he would have to put his mind on the problem of Mrs. Godd once more. One woman like that, in her position of power, was more dangerous than all the seventeen “wobblies” who had been haled before the court. Peter inquired, and learned that Guffey had already been to see Nelse Ackerman about it, and Mr. Ackerman had been to see Mr. Godd, and Mr. Godd had been to see Mrs. Godd. Also the “Times” had an editorial referring to the “nest of Bolshevism” upon Mount Olympus, and all Mrs. Godd’s friends were staying away from her luncheon-parties—so she was being made to suffer for her insolence27 to Peter Gudge!
“A hospital for deformed souls,” indeed! Peter was so upset that his joy in life was not restored even by the news that the jury had found the defendants guilty on the first ballot28. He told McGivney that the strain of this trial had been too much for his nerves, and they must take care of him; so an automobile4 was provided, and Peter was taken to a secret hiding place in the country to recuperate29.
Hammett went with him, and Hammett was a first-class gunman, and Peter stayed close by him; in the evening he stayed up in the second story of the farm-house, lest perchance one of the “wobblies” should take too literally30 the testimony Peter had given concerning their habit of shooting at their enemies out of the darkness. Peter knew how they all must hate him; he read in the paper how the judge summoned the guilty men before him and sentenced them, incidentally forcing them to listen to a scathing31 address, which was published in full in the “Times.” The law provided a penalty of from one to fourteen years, and the judge sentenced sixteen of them to fourteen years, and one to ten years, thus tempering justice with mercy.
Then one day McGivney sent an automobile, and Peter was brought to Guffey’s office, and a new plan was unfolded to him. They had arrested another bunch of “wobblies” in the neighboring city of Eldorado, and Peter was wanted there to repeat his testimony. It happened that he knew one of the accused men, and that would be sufficient to get his testimony in—his prize stuff about the burning barns and the phosphorus bombs. He would be taken care of just as thoroughly32 by the district attorney’s office of Eldorado County; or better yet, Guffey would write to his friend Steve Ellman, who did the detective work for the Home and Fireside Association, the big business organization of that city.
Peter hemmed33 and hawed. This was a pretty hard and dangerous kind of work, it really played the devil with a man’s nerves, sitting up there in the hotel room all day, with nothing to do but smoke cigarettes and imagine the “wobblies” throwing bombs at you. Also, it wouldn’t last very long; it ought to be better paid. Guffey answered that Peter needn’t worry about the job’s lasting34; if he cared to give this testimony, he might have a joy ride from one end of the country to the other, and everywhere he would live on the fat of the land, and be a hero in the newspapers.
But still Peter hemmed and hawed. He had learned from the American City “Times” how valuable a witness he was, and he ventured to demand his price, even from the terrible Guffey; he stuck it out, in spite of Guffey’s frowns, and the upshot was that Guffey said, All right, if Peter would take the trip he might have seventy-five dollars a week and expenses, and Guffey would guarantee to keep him busy for not less than six months.
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1
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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defendants
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| 被告( defendant的名词复数 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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11
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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16
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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17
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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18
acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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29
recuperate
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| v.恢复 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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31
scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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33
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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34
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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