“Joseph Turner!”
A bright-eyed, brown-faced, friendly-looking boy swung alertly into the box and fired a pair of earnest young eyes on the prosecutor.
“What was your occupation on June nineteenth of this year, Mr. Turner?”
“I was bus driver over the Perrytown route.”
“Still are?”
“No, sir; driving for the same outfit, but over a new route—Redfield to Glenvale.”
“Ever see these before, Turner?”
The prosecutor lifted a black chiffon cape and lace scarf from the pasteboard box beside him and extended them casually toward the witness.
The boy eyed them soberly. “Yes, sir.”
“When?”