XXXII.
HICKORY.
Hickory, dickory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock!
The clock struck one,
And down he run!
Hickory, dickory, dock!
—Mother Goose Melodies.
HICKORY'S face was no new one to the court. He had occupied a considerable portion of one day in giving testimony for the prosecution, and his rough manner and hardy face, twinkling, however, at times with an irrepressible humor that redeemed it and him from all charge of ugliness, were well known not only to the jury but to all the habitués of the trial. Yet, when he stepped upon the stand at the summons of Mr. Orcutt, every eye turned toward him with curiosity, so great was the surprise with which his name had been hailed, and so vivid the interest aroused in what a detective devoted to the cause of the prosecution might have to say in the way of supporting the defence.
The first question uttered by Mr. Orcutt served to put them upon the right track.
"Will you tell the court where you have been to-day, Mr. Hickory?"
"Well," replied the witness in a slow and ruminating tone of voice, as he cast a look at Mr. Ferris, half apologetic and half reassuring, "I have been in a good many places——"
"You know what I mean," interrupted Mr. Orcutt. "Tell the court where you were between the hours of eleven and a quarter to one," he added, with a quick glance at the paper he held in his hand.
"Oh, then," cried Hickory, suddenly relaxing into his drollest self. "Well, then, I was all along the route from Sibley to Monteith Quarry Station. I don't think I was stationary at any one minute of the time, sir."
"In other words——" suggested Mr. Orcutt, severely.