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Colonel Starbottle For The Plaintiff
by
“I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury,” said the Colonel, solemnly, drawing a Bible from his coat-tail pocket, “that the defendant, for the last twelve months, conducted an amatory correspondence with the plaintiff by means of underlined words of sacred writ and church psalmody, such as ‘beloved,’ ‘precious,’ and ‘dearest,’ occasionally appropriating whole passages which seemed apposite to his tender passion. I shall call your attention to one of them. The defendant, while professing to be a total abstainer—a man who, in my own knowledge, has refused spirituous refreshment as an inordinate weakness of the flesh, with shameless hypocrisy underscores with his pencil the following passage and presents it to the plaintiff. The gentlemen of the jury will find it in the Song of Solomon, page 548, chapter II, verse 5.” After a pause, in which the rapid rustling of leaves was heard in the jury-box, Colonel Starbottle declaimed in a pleading, stentorian voice, “‘Stay me with —er—flagons, comfort me with—er—apples—for I am—er—sick of love.’ Yes, gentlemen!—yes, you may well turn from those accusing pages and look at the double-faced defendant. He desires—to—er—be —’stayed with flagons’! I am not aware, at present, what kind of liquor is habitually dispensed at these meetings, and for which the defendant so urgently clamored; but it will be my duty before this trial is over to discover it, if I have to summon every barkeeper in this district. For the moment, I will simply call your attention to the quantity. It is not a single drink that the defendant asks for —not a glass of light and generous wine, to be shared with his inamorata—but a number of flagons or vessels, each possibly holding a pint measure—for himself!”
The smile of the audience had become a laugh. The Judge looked up warningly, when his eye caught the fact that the Colonel had again winced at this mirth. He regarded him seriously. Mr. Hotchkiss’s counsel had joined in the laugh affectedly, but Hotchkiss himself was ashy pale. There was also a commotion in the jury-box, a hurried turning over of leaves, and an excited discussion.
“The gentlemen of the jury,” said the Judge, with official gravity, “will please keep order and attend only to the speeches of counsel. Any discussion here is irregular and premature—and must be reserved for the jury-room—after they have retired.”
The foreman of the jury struggled to his feet. He was a powerful man, with a good-humored face, and, in spite of his unfelicitous nickname of “The Bone-Breaker,” had a kindly, simple, but somewhat emotional nature. Nevertheless, it appeared as if he were laboring under some powerful indignation.
“Can we ask a question, Judge?” he said, respectfully, although his voice had the unmistakable Western-American ring in it, as of one who was unconscious that he could be addressing any but his peers.
“Yes,” said the Judge, good-humoredly.
“We’re finding in this yere piece, out of which the Kernel hes just bin a-quotin’, some language that me and my pardners allow hadn’t orter to be read out afore a young lady in court—and we want to know of you—ez a fair-minded and impartial man—ef this is the reg’lar kind o’ book given to gals and babies down at the meetin’-house.”
“The jury will please follow the counsel’s speech, without comment,” said the Judge, briefly, fully aware that the defendant’s counsel would spring to his feet, as he did promptly. “The Court will allow us to explain to the gentlemen that the language they seem to object to has been accepted by the best theologians for the last thousand years as being purely mystic. As I will explain later, those are merely symbols of the Church—”
“Of wot?” interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn.
“Of the Church!”
“We ain’t askin’ any questions o’ you—and we ain’t takin’ any answers,” said the foreman, sitting down promptly.
“I must insist,” said the Judge, sternly, “that the plaintiff’s counsel be allowed to continue his opening without interruption. You” (to defendant’s counsel) “will have your opportunity to reply later.”
The counsel sank down in his seat with the bitter conviction that the jury was manifestly against him, and the case as good as lost. But his face was scarcely as disturbed as his client’s, who, in great agitation, had begun to argue with him wildly, and was apparently pressing some point against the lawyer’s vehement opposal. The Colonel’s murky eyes brightened as he still stood erect with his hand thrust in his breast.