“Sure!” answers the officer, with a grin, and now the gentlemen of the bar laugh with the benchers, and even the court lays down the gilt menu and smiles broadly.
But, these things are good. They crowd upon the young champion of the prisoner a tremendous sense of the responsibility he has assumed. He addresses the court foolishly but seriously:
“I shall beg in advance the indulgence of the court. I have never before tried a case. I shall make some blunders in trying this one. But, sir, I have undertaken, here, upon the instant, without preparation, the defence of that priceless thing—a man’s liberty—nay, his life! For he is sick and hopeless unto death. And, unless he is taken from this court to an hospital, upon our hands will be not only his liberty but his life. Sir, I have been taught, I am sure this court has been taught, before it ascended the three steps which lead to the bench, that liberty is a holy thing. That it is a nobler quest, in this forum, to stand its champion than in that other to contend for those priceful things which may be measured in money. Am I wrong, sir, to do this? Do the gentlemen of the bar laugh for that reason? If they laugh at me, in God’s name let them do so. But, let no one laugh at such a solemn spectacle as this—Look! Look at the man! Look about! Was ever man save He that suffered on the cross so friendless and alone? such a stranger among strangers?”
“Proceed!” shouts the district attorney.
The court nods in assent.
“When your opportunity comes, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Forrest,” prompts the lawyer.
“—to address the jury, they may be interested in—er—your views—upon—er—liberty. The court—has—er—heard them often. Proceed, sir, with your witness.”
Under this brutality John Forrest has become the steady practitioner of a dozen years.
“You know nothing about this watch, or its taking?”