“Sounds that way. Step down. Defendant got anythin’ to say?”
Catty nudged his father and Mr. Atkins stood up and walked to the witness’s chair. With his beard and hair-cut, and those brand-new painter’s clothes, he looked fine. He didn’t look any more like a tramp than the Methodist minister, and the folks in the courtroom sort of grunted out loud. Mr. Gage looked at him and then looked at his wife and goggled his eyes. He was considerable flabbergasted, I judged.
“You are Mr. Atkins, the defendant in this case?”
“Calc’late to be.”
“Hear what the town marshal jest said?”
“Every word of it, from beginnin’ to end.”
“Did he tell the truth?”
“Not more ’n he could help,” says Mr. Atkins, and everybody in the room let out a laugh.
“Did you tramp into town?”
“Walked in. Any crime to walkin’? Never heard walkin’ was a crime.”