“Haud your whist, ye gowk. Ye are no fand guilty yet,” remonstrated a juror.
The jury being formed, the judge called the plaintiff.
“The man sold me a claim for thirty pound. I gave him the blunt because I saw the stuff was glittery. Well, I worked it, and I found it work rather easy, that is a fact.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” roared the crowd, but with a horrible laughter, no placability in it.
“Well, I found lots of dust, and I took it to the merchant, and he says it is none of it gold. That is my tale.”
“Have you any witnesses?”
“I don't know. Yes, the nigger; he saw it. Here, Jacky, come and tell them.”
Jacky was thrust forward, but was interrupted by McLaughlan as soon as he opened his mouth. The Scottish juror declined to receive evidence but upon oath. The judge allowed the objection.
“Swear him in, then,” cried a hundred voices.
“Swear?” inquired Jacky, innocently.