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She read Peter's speech
again and again, stopping to sob at intervals, and hugging the clipping
to her bosom from time to time, as the best equivalent for Peter, while
sobbing: "My boy, my darling boy." Every one in the mill-town knew of
it, and the clippings were passed round among Peter's friends, beginning
with the clergyman and ending with his school-boy companions. They all
wondered why Peter had spoken so briefly. "If I could talk like that,"
said a lawyer to the proud mother, "I'd have spoken for a couple of
hours." Mrs. Stirling herself wished it had been longer. Four columns of
evidence, and only a little over a half column of speech! It couldn't
have taken him twenty minutes at the most. "Even the other lawyer, who
had nothing to say but lies, took over a column to his speech. And his
was printed close together, while that of Peter's was spread out (_e.g._
solid and leaded) making the difference in length all the greater." Mrs.
Stirling wondered if there could be a conspiracy against her Peter, on
the part of the Metropolitan press.


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