“They could be lookin' at ye when ye 'd aware they were only lookin' at the ground; and he 'd a thrick of stopping himself when he was laughing hearty by drawing the back of his hand over his mouth, this way.”
As the witness accompanied these words by a gesture, a low murmur of astonishment ran through the court, for more than once during the morning Meekins had been seen to perform the very act described.
“You would probably be able to know him again if you saw him.”
“That I would.”
“Look around you, now, and tell me if you see him here. No, no, he's not in the jury-box; still less likely it is that you 'd find him on the bench.”
The witness, neither heeding the remark nor the laughter which followed it, slowly rose and looked around him.
“Move a little to one side, if ye plase,” said he to a member of the inner bar. “Yes, that's him.” And he pointed to Meekins, who, with crossed arms and lowering frown, stood still and immovable.
The bystanders all fell back at the same instant, and now he remained isolated in the midst of that crowded scene, every eye bent upon him.
“You 're wearing well, Sam,” said the witness, addressing him familiarly. “Maybe it's the black wig you 'ye on; but you don't look a day oulder than when I seen you last.”
This speech excited the most intense astonishment in the court, and many now perceived, for the first time, that Meekins did not wear his own hair.