COKESON. [With an indulgent smile] No!
FROME. Thank you, Mr. Cokeson. [He sits down.]
CLEAVER. [Rising] You say that on the morning of the forgery the prisoner was jumpy. Well, now, sir, what precisely do you mean by that word?
COKESON. [Indulgently] I want you to understand. Have you ever seen a dog that's lost its master? He was kind of everywhere at once with his eyes.
CLEAVER. Thank you; I was coming to his eyes. You called them "funny." What are we to understand by that? Strange, or what?
COKESON. Ye-es, funny.
COKESON. [Sharply] Yes, sir, but what may be funny to you may not be funny to me, or to the jury. Did they look frightened, or shy, or fierce, or what?
COKESON. You make it very hard for me. I give you the word, and you want me to give you another.
CLEAVER. [Rapping his desk] Does "funny" mean mad?
CLEAVER. Not mad, fun——