And any boy who thinks there’s going to be a ghost in the garret, or a phantom in the French orchard, had better,—well, he had better keep reading straight on. That’s about the best advice I can give him.
VI.
The great, the famous, and the never-to-be-forgotten Trial.—Captain Corbet hauled up before the Bar of Rhadamanthus.—Town and Gown.—Attitude of the gallant Captain.—The sympathizing Townsmen.—Old Zeke and his Bat.—Mr. Long’s eloquent Oration, ending in the Apotheosis of Captain Corbet’s Baby. (For meaning of above word—Apotheosis—see Dictionary.)
THE day appointed for the hearing of Captain Corbet’s case was awaited with an excitement which was almost equal to that which had been created by the affair in the attic. It was to come off at eleven o’clock; but the impatience of the boys was not to be restrained, and long before that time they were all out in front of the Academy, gathered together in groups, and discussing the probabilities of the trial. The wall had been removed, and put into the schooner for ballast, and carried away. It had been kept for more than a week. That was all undeniable. But, then, on the other hand, it had all been replaced, so that it was better than ever. That was equally undeniable. How, then, could the owner prosecute? What damage had been done? In fact, the opinion of the boys was, that instead of prosecuting, he ought to make the school a present of some kind,—say a couple of barrels of apples, in return for their skill and industry in rebuilding his old rickety, tumble-down stone wall. Besides, he had no business to prosecute Captain Corbet. Mr. Long was the guilty party. Why not prosecute him?
On the whole it was a question full of interest, and as the appointed hour drew near, its advent created greater and greater excitement.
At a quarter before eleven the door of Dr. Porter’s house opened, and out came Mr. Long, followed by Captain Corbet, while Mr. Simmons and the doctor brought up the rear.
Their appearance was greeted with three rousing cheers by all the boys; and as their respected teachers walked on towards the village, the entire school followed at their heels, in a very irregular, very disorderly, and very noisy procession.
The place where the trial was to come off was about half way between the Academy and Mud Creek. It was in a small hall which was built for lectures, public gatherings, tea meetings and so forth. It was now turned into a court of law, and the awful Rhadamanthus who presided here was a well-known and very popular villager, who, by some singular freak of fortune, had been made a justice of the peace. His name was Pieter Schwab, and he was of Dutch extraction. He was short, round, fat, had a bald head, double chin, gray and somewhat fishy eyes, flaxen hair, pudgy hands, thick, wheezy voice; and though born and brought up in the country, he still spoke with that musical and mellifluous Dutch accent which he had inherited from his ancestors.
As the party from the hill entered, they found Mr. Pieter Schwab, justice of the peace, seated in the chair of justice. The prosecutor was there too, with a large number of villagers, who took an intense interest in the case; and when the boys crowded in, the little hall was crammed.