Mr. Cavendish sat down, with the air of a man who believed he had blasted the case in the bud, and that there was nothing left to do but to adjourn.
"It seems to the Court, gentlemen," said the judge in a quiet tone, "that this question of identity should be settled as an essential preliminary to further proceedings."
"May it please your honor," said Mr. Balfour, rising, "I did not suppose it possible, after the plaintiff had actually appeared in court, and shown himself to the defendant, that this question of identity would be mooted or mentioned. The defendant must know that I have witnesses here—that I would not appear here without competent witnesses—who will place his identity beyond question. It seems, however, that this case is to be fought inch by inch, on every possible ground. As the first witness upon this point, I shall call for James Fenton."
"Jest call me Jim," said the individual named, from his distant seat.
"James Fenton" was called to the stand, and Mr. Benedict stepped down. Jim advanced through the crowd, his hair standing very straight in the air, and his face illumined by a smile that won every heart in the house, except those of the defendant and his counsel. A war-horse going into battle, or a hungry man going to his dinner, could not have manifested more rampant alacrity.
"Hold up your right hand," said the clerk.
"Sartin," said Jim. "Both on 'em if ye say so."
"You solemnly swear m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-so help you God!"
"I raally wish, if ye ain't too tired, that ye'd say that over agin," said Jim. "If I'm a goin' to make a Happy David, I want to know what it is."
The clerk hesitated, and the judge directed him to repeat the form of the oath distinctly. When this was done, Jim said: "Thank ye; there's nothin' like startin' squar."