"I tell you it thrilled me to think of that boy turning out to be Fred Ketlar!" And it thrilled Joan Daisy, as she told it, for this was true; this was exactly what had happened; that bell-boy, who had been nice to her when she was embarrassed and in trouble, had made himself the famous Fred Ketlar, who led the orchestra at the Echo, whose records every one played and whose music every one whistled and sang.
In front of her Mr. Clarke was standing—Mr. Clarke who had come for the People of Illinois to accuse Ket and to hang him; but Mr. Elmen, who also was upon his feet, stepped nearer to her and to the judge.
"Your honor," Mr. Elmen was saying, "it is essential to the defense to go with considerable detail into the relations between this witness and the defendant; her attitude toward him at all times is directly relevant and material, as will be shown."
The judge nodded, and Mr. Clarke could not prevent her telling how she felt about Ket.
"Did this end your conversation at the time?" Mr. Elmen asked, and Joan Daisy could discern that he was much pleased with her.
"No."
"You may relate whatever else passed between you, if you remember."
"I do," replied Joan Daisy, recognizing the cue to embark upon another series of prepared passages, which were not true; but she must repeat them, if she was to save Ket; and she felt that never had she wanted to save him so much as now when she faced Mr. Calvin Clarke, the ready-made from Harvard and from the home in Massachusetts which went back through Antietam and John Adams' administration to the Revolution and Queen Anne's war, and who sat watching her and taking notes which he would use to try to trip her in her effort to save
