The Puddleford Papers Part 29

"No wals here; you're sworn now; out with it. Didn't you tell old Soper, if she warn't so old and rusty-like, you'd strike, hit or miss? What, sir?"

"Wal!" groaned Buzzlebaum again.

"Guilty as a dog; won't answer; is a-goin'-ter die game, right inter the face of the court," exclaimed Ike.

Mr. Buzzlebaum began to scratch his head, and just got an idea of what "sot up" meant, and declared, "he'd never sot up with Miss Beadle, nor n.o.body else, but he warn't goin' to answer any more questions;" and asking another juryman for his hat, which stood among a huddle of hats outside the jury-box, "leaned" for the door, amid the cries of the court, clerk, Bates, &c., of "hold on," "don't go," "stop him," "bring him back, sheriff," &c.

But Buzzlebaum didn't return.

The next juryman who Ike thought was "_dang_-rous," was Mr. Tumbleton.

"Mr. Tumbleton," exclaimed Ike, "form'd or 'spressed any 'pinion in this case?"

"No, sir!"

"Hain't form'd _nor_ 'spressed any?"

"No, sir!"

"Hain't said that you hop'd the old maid would come out hunk?"

"No, sir!"

"Hain't said that Turtle was a jacka.s.s for pus.h.i.+n' on this 'ere suit?"

"No, sir!"

"Hain't thought he was?"

"Sir?"

"Pretty clus questions," said Mr. Tumbleton, balancing on one leg, and looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

"Now don't you think--and haven't you _said_, that Turtle was a jacka.s.s for pus.h.i.+n' on this suit?" inquired Ike, rising from his chair.

"No, sir!--haven't said any such thing."

"Don't you _think_ he is, is the question, Mr. Tumbleton?"

"Think you are a jacka.s.s!" repeated the juror.

"Yes, sir!"

"Very likely I do."

Mr. Turtle submitted to the court, if that "warn't 'nough to break him from sittin'."

Mr. Bates said, "the man show'd his good sense--best juryman on the whole panel."

The court thought the juryman was ent.i.tled to his own opinion; it was not pos-i-_tive_ proof that Turtle was a jacka.s.s 'cause the juryman might have thought so; shouldn't drive him out the box for that.

"Ever been in state-prison?" continued Turtle, resuming the examination.

"S--i--r!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Tumbleton, moving towards Ike, with his arm raised.

"_Or_, in the county jail," added Ike, almost in time, and c.o.c.king his eye saucily at Mr. Tumbleton.

Mr. Tumbleton rushed upon Ike, and upset him, before Ike knew that he really was in danger.

Mr. Turtle rose in a very unruffled manner for him, and asked the court, "if sich a contempt as that was to go unnoticed--a reg'lar admitted 'torney a.s.saulted right inter the face of the court--he moved that Mr. Tumbleton be confined in the log jail for twenty-four hours--out of respect to his honor the court."

The judge ordered Mr. Tumbleton to be confined, and thus the second juror was disposed of.

"You live up on Poverty Common--don't you?" continued Ike, as if nothing had happened, addressing himself to a runt of a man, who looked as if he had been on short feed, and who had strayed on the jury no one knew how.

"Yes, I _do_," answered the man.

"_Your_ name is Flummer?"

"_Flum_ what?" inquired the juror.

"Flum-_mer_," answered Ike, tartly.

"Well, whose business is that, if it is?"

"Mine," said Ike. "Wasn't old Zeb Flummer your grandfather?"

"Old Zeb? yes."

"Didn't old Zeb Flummer marry old Sally Beadle?"

"That's what they say."

"And wasn't old Sally Beadle, Charity Beadle's grandmother?"

"S'pose so," said Flummer.

"Well, sir, you can just step out," said Turtle; "the statert cuts you short-bob-off; no blood relatives sit here." And the court seemed to a.s.sent, and Flummer left--nine jurymen remaining in the box.

Bates "knocked off" three more for "causes," leaving six; and by this time the first day was about exhausted. Talesmen were picked up from the by-standers to supply the places of the "missing," and the court adjourned.

On the next day, Ike opened the cause in his best style. He gave a biography of Philista Filkins, and dwelt upon her ups and downs in this mortal life. "He _did_ s'pose, that if there ever _was_ a woman that had grief, and _stood_ it, too, 'twas his client, and she was nothin' but a woman, nuther. She lik'd to gone off with the measles when she was a child, and had been puny-like ever since; her father was kill'd by an oak-tree 'fore she could do anythin' for herself, down on the Catta-_ra_-gus, leaving a pile of young-uns, he didn't know how many. Her father warn't rich, but that warn't neither here nor thar; he was honest, and paid up his debts afore he died, to the last cent; he was a man that struggled a good deal for a livin', but he got it; allers kept a stiff upper lip, as tho'

the skies were bright, and the sailin' good. Arter he died, they were a most distress_ed_ family. His client, 'bout the year--'bout the year--[Ike stopped and scratched his head]--'bout the year--[he had forgotten when, and turning, exclaimed to Aunt Sonora], When in _thun_der was it that Miss Filkins came inter the settlement?"

"_Wal_, now, let me think," answered Aunt Sonora,--"Brumijim's youngest boy died--died--when _did_ he die?--but no matter--but when we bought our brindle cow--we got her of old lame Gosander, and I recollect jist as well as if it was yesterday, that when my boy Jim was drivin' off that 'ere cow from Gosander's--one warm spring mornin'--that he tell'd me, arter he got home, that he met some _strang_-ers on the road--and I axed him who they were? And Jim said--"

"When--in thunder--_was_ it?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ike again, who hung suspended in the middle of his speech, while the old lady was fogging away over the history of the past.

"I was jist a-goin' to tell you! You needn't get so fl.u.s.ter'd 'bout it,"