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table at which we were sitting. "What makes you so interested in Morgan, Jennie?"
"I'm not," I lied. "I just happened to remember he wasn't very old, and wondered why he wasn't in the Army, that's all."
"I don't like him," Tom said shortly. "I don't like his holier-than-thou attitude and the way he talks about The Law. So — " he grinned suddenly — "let's not talk any more about him." His hand reached over and captured mine. "Let's talk about us. Don't you know I'm crazy about you?"
It wasn't the first time he'd made such an extravagant remark — and, as usual, I didn't believe he meant it at all. I laughed, but inwardly I felt a little, sharp twinge of pain. If Barrett Morgan had ever said that to me, I'd have known he meant it. If ! . . .
"No," I said, "let's talk about Mike."
"All right," Tom agreed. "And I've got some news for you. I've decided I want you to testify."
I SANK back in my seat, feeling al•* ready as if the eyes of hundreds of people were on me. "Oh, no, Tom!" I breathed. "I couldn't! I'd make mistakes and say the wrong things."
"No you won't." He shook his head firmly. "I want you to tell exactly what you've told me, about your life and Mike's since your mother died. Tell about Mike's friends, the kids he ran around with, and how they always used to hang around on street corners because they didn't have any place else to go. You've got to do it, if you want to help Mike. I can't put him on the stand, because you know how he is — completely licked, sure he'll be convicted no matter what he says. The jury wouldn't like that — they'd think he was just sullen . . . It's you or nobody, Jennie."
I took a deep breath, to quiet the terror inside me. "Then it's me, of course," I said.
Even then, mixed up with the dread, I there was in me a kind of fierce deI light. Barrett Morgan would be there ■ in the courtroom, listening. He was so i I anxious to convict Mike — to do as the "Mayor said, make an example of him. Well, maybe it wouldn't work out that I way, and if it didn't, I would have done my share in defeating Barrett.
I wonder, now, if I should have
I sensed something strange about Mike's
i trial. But I knew nothing of what goes
on in courtrooms — only what I had
seen in the movies, and they aren't
much like the real thing. Besides, I
'was so intent on making a good im
i'pression when the time came for me
I to take the stand that there must have
I been a lot I missed.
It came to me in snatches — bits of
pictures. Mike sitting next to me at the
I long oak table, keeping his head down
I and his eyes on his clasped hands. The
'judge, looking frighteningly high up
! in the air on his bench. Twelve people
with white blurs for faces in the jury
box. A buzz from the partly-filled
*} space for spectators behind me. And
Barrett Morgan, remote and strange,
,\ on the other side of the room.
Our eyes met, just once, with an im
ilpact that sent a tremor through my
-whole body. But whether it was a
shock of love or hatred I didn't know.
Mr. Corelli, the owner of the candy
store, testified, and so did the police
,man who had arrested Mike. And
I ! then it seemed that the City Attorney
•had called all his witnesses, and from
:ja great distance I heard my own name
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