He reached behind him and hitched up the tail of his vest with both hands, delicately; this accomplished, he sank into his chair, raised his trousers gently at the knee and gazed about him innocently.
“My Honor will be—”
The judge bit the sentence in two, leaving the end in doubt; he regarded the prisoner with baleful attention. The prisoner gazed through a window. The judge beckoned to Mr. Gwinne, who sat on the front seat between See and Hobby Lull. Mr. Gwinne came forward. The judge leaned across the desk.
“Mr. Gwinne, do you feed this prisoner well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“About what, now, for instance?”
“Oh—beefsteak, ham and eggs, enchilados, canned stuff—most anything.”
“Mr. Gwinne, if I told you to put this prisoner on a strict ration, would you obey orders?”
“I certainly would.”
“That’s all,” said the judge. “Thank you. Mr. Dines, you may go on with the case. The witness may answer the question. Objection overruled. State your question again, Mr. Dines.”