"No; let it stand!" said he significantly. "Let it stand!"
"Well, anyway," continued Mr. Brown, "this here defendant Lowry, as he calls himself, is well known—"
Objected to and struck out.
"Well, this here defendant makes a practise—"
"Strike it out! What did he do?" snapped the octogenarian baboon on the bench.
"I'm tellin' you, judge," protested Brown vigorously. "This here defendant—"
"You've said that three times!" retorted the baboon. "Get along, can't you? What did he do?"
"He treated my horse for spavin here in New York at 500 West 24th Street at my request on the twentieth of last March and I paid him five dollars. He said he was a licensed veterinary and he gave me his card. Here it is."
"Well, why didn't you say so before?" remarked the judge more amiably. "Let me see the card. All right! Anything more, Mr. Hingman?"
But Mr. Hingman had long before this subsided into his chair and was emitting sounds like those from a saxophone.