The judge toyed impatiently with the mallet of authority, but he would not so far demean himself as to bring the prisoner to understand his lesson. Rather, he glared at the Clerk, who was a yellow-white, and demanded of him:
“Got the prisoner in the Court?” he could plainly see the nervous Al just in front of his table, but that was not justice as he weighed it out to menials.
The Clerk lowered the paper, stared over his specs at Al, and called impatiently: “Why don’ you answer when I calls yoh name, Al?” The Americans smiled at the first bit of play.
“D’ye want me to?” demanded Al Colman, wriggling uneasily. He was a ragged, ignorant black, who looked too stupid to steal.
“Shore! Got a lawyer t’ defen’ yuh?” demanded the Clerk.
“How come yuh ast me dat? Yuh knows I ain’t got nuff money to git me a moufful to eat?” retorted Al. Eleanor laughed and the judge thumped the table furiously and bawled out:
“Order in this Court!”
“Step up to the chair, Al, and be examined,” advised the Clerk.
Poor Al, getting up from his bench as if it was to be the last act on earth for him, crept up to the platform and shook as he lifted imploring eyes to the severe magistrate above him. This tickled the egotism of the judge mightily and he frowned down upon the trembling prisoner.
“Step up and answer all questions truthfully!” commanded he.