Mose stretched forth his hand, and with a sharp pencil rap upon the desk, the Judge commanded: "Stand where you are."
"IF YOU AIR THE JEDGE, I AM SORTER DISERP'INTED IN YOU."
"If you air the Jedge," said Laz, gazing intently, "I am sorter diserp'inted in you. I thought a United States Jedge must be about eight feet high."
"Well, never mind what you thought. You are here to tell what you know. Here, you," he added, speaking to Mose, "what is your name?"
"M—M—M—M—M—M—"
"Well, never mind. Where do you live?"
"Well, if y—y—y—y—you don't know a feller's n—n—n—name it don't m—m—m—make no d—d—d—diffunce whar he lives, d—d—d—does it?"
Laz struck in. "He won't tell you a lie, Jedge. He won't have time."