The court said, "it didn't make any difference—it warn't neither here nor thar—the p'ints were all squashed, and that was his decision; costs to go agin Turtle."
"Agin Turtle," exclaimed Ike, rising, "costs agin Turtle!"
"Agin Turtle's client," said the court, correcting himself.
"That sounds a leetle more like a court of justis'," added Ike; "but it was a bull-head decision, he would say that, if he rotted in jail for contempt, that is, if anybody could commit contempt agin such a bass-wood-headed court, as this had got-ter be!"
A jury was now about to be impanelled to try the case between Filkins and Beadle a second time, and this was no small matter. The whole county had heard of this remarkable suit, and had talked about it, and each person had allied himself or herself to the parties. A very small matter will throw a new country into a tempest of excitement, as a very few matters of importance exist to get excited about. When the panel was filled, and the clerk had announced that fact to the court, Ike saw, or thought he saw, some of the most violent Beadle men in the county among the number. He had only two peremptory challenges, and if he could not remove some of them for "cause," as the books say, "he was gone up," as he thought to himself.
Mr. Buzzlebaum, a hickory-headed farmer, with short hair, which stuck up all over his head like a porcupine's quills, was a very dangerous man. Ike knew he was a bachelor, and he had been strongly suspected of "paying some attention" to Miss Beadle; so Ike put a few questions to Mr. Buzzlebaum.
"Mr. Buzzlebaum," exclaimed Ike, "you a juryman in this case?"
Mr. Buzzlebaum said he was.
"Y—e—s," drawled Ike, "so I see," as if he had got on the panel fraudulently some way.
"Know Miss Beadle?"