“I object!” said the prosecutor sharply, flinging out his ready hand.
“Don’t answer that question!” warned the judge.
Mrs. Greening had it on her lips; anybody who could read print on a signboard could have told what they were shaped to say. She held them there in their preliminary position of enunciation, pursed and wrinkled, like the tied end of a sausage-link.
“I will frame the question in another manner,” said Hammer, again feeling the need of his large handkerchief.
“There is no form that would be admissible, your honor,” protested the prosecutor. “It is merely hearsay that the counsel for the defense is attempting to bring out and get before the jury. I object!”
“Your course of questioning, Mr. Hammer, is highly improper, and in flagrant violation to the established rules of evidence,” said the judge. “You must confine yourself to proof by this witness of what she, of her own knowledge and experience, is cognizant of. Nothing else is permissible.”
“But, your honor, I intend to show by this witness that when Sol Greening knocked on that door––”
“I object! She wasn’t present; she has testified that she was at home at that time, and in bed.”
This from the prosecutor, in great heat.
“Your honor, I intend to prove–” began Hammer.