“I got 's much right to talk 's anyone, and I'ma goin' to talk 's much 's I please.”
His friends tried to silence him, and the Sheriff made his way through the crowd and endeavored to induce him to leave the court-room. But it was to no purpose. Jim Turkle was much too “far gone” to know what he was doing, though he was in a delightfully good humor. He merely hugged the Sheriff and laughed drunkenly.
“Aleck, you jist go 'way f'om here. I ain't a-goin' to shet up. You shet up yourself. I 'm a-goin' to talk all I please. Now, you hear it.”
Then as if to atone for his rudeness, he caught the Sheriff roughly by the arm and pulled him toward him:
“Aleck, how 's the case goin'? Is Mandy a goin' to win? Is that old rascal rulin' right!”
The Sheriff urged something in a low voice, but Turkle would not be silenced.
“Now you see thar,” he broke out with a laugh to those about him, “did n't I tell you Aleck wa' n 't nothin' but a' ol' drunkard? What d' you s'pose the ol' rascal wants me to do? He wants me to go over there to the bar and git drunk like 'im, and I ain't goin' to do it. I never drink. I 've come here to see that my cousin Mandy's chil'ern gits their patrimony, and I ain' a goin' to 'sociate with these here drunken fellows like Aleck Thompson.”
The Sheriff made a final effort. He spoke positively, but Turkle would not heed.
“Oh, 'Judge' be damned! You and I know that ol' fellow loves a dram jest 's well 's the best of 'em—jest 's well 's you do. Look at his face. You think he got that drinkin' well-water! Bet yer he 's got a bottle in 's pocket right now.”
A titter ran through the crowd, but was suddenly stopped.