And what might have been the value of the potatoes planted there,—or how much would it cost to replant them? Two dollars, or twenty? Over how much ground had Old Zeke’s rat gone, and how many potatoes had Old Zeke’s rat eaten? Would he swear that Old Zeke’s rat wouldn’t have eaten the potatoes even if the wall had been standing? Would he swear that it was possible for any one rat, in five or six days, to eat up five hundred dollars’ worth of potatoes?
In a short time the prosecutor had got into an awful state of wrath and confusion. But Mr. Long was merciless, and had made up his mind not to spare him. So he rang the changes on Old Zeke’s rat and the potatoes till all the assembly were convulsed with laughter, and the prosecutor was purple with fury and bewilderment.
Then Mr. Long changed his tone to one of greater seriousness. Alluding to the prosecutor’s oath; that the damage had amounted to five hundred dollars, he questioned him with merciless severity as to how he had made that estimate.
Had he dug up the potatoes to see if they had been injured?
No.
Had he ploughed up the field and sowed it again?
No.
The field remained, then, as it had been planted?
Yes.
On his oath, did he, or did he not, expect a crop of potatoes?