“Robert Robinson,” cried the clerk.
A respectable-looking man of fifty presented himself, and was about to enter the box without stopping to ascertain whether or not he would be welcome there. This person had much more the air of the world than either of the other jurors; and with those who are not very particular, or very discriminating in such matters, might readily enough pass for a gentleman. He was neatly dressed, wore gloves, and had certain chains, an eye-glass, and other appliances of the sort, that it is not usual to see at a country circuit. Neither Williams nor Timms seemed to know the juror; but each looked surprised, and undecided how he ought to act. The peremptory challenges were not exhausted; and there was a common impulse in the two lawyers, first to accept one so respectable in mien, and attire, and general air; and then, by a sudden revolution of feeling, to reject one of whom they knew nothing.[nothing.]
“I suppose the summons is all right,” Williams carelessly remarked. “The juror resides in Duke’s?”
“I do,” was the answer.
“Is a freeholder, and entitled to serve?”
A somewhat supercilious smile came over the countenance of the juror; and he looked round at the person who could presume to make such a remark, with something very like an air of contempt.
“I am Doctor Robinson,” he then observed, laying emphasis on his learned appellation.
Williams seemed at a loss; for, to say the truth, he had never heard of any such physician in the county. Timms was quite as much mystified; when a member of the bar leaned across a table, and whispered to Dunscomb that the juror was a celebrated quack, who made pills that would cure all diseases; and who, having made a fortune, had bought a place in the county, and was to all legal purposes entitled to serve.
“The juror can stand aside,” said Dunscomb, rising in his slow dignified manner. “If it please the court, we challenge peremptorily.”
Timms looked still more surprised; and when told the reason for the course taken by his associate, he was even sorry.