"A German spy, sir!" gasped the first bobby.
"I'm an American, and can prove it," denied the victim.
"That's what he says, but here's the evidence," interrupted the second bobby, triumphantly producing a bulky hotel-register from beneath his arm, and pointing to an entry.
"V. Gates," written in a flowing hand, was the record that met the astonished sergeant's gaze.
It happened in the court-room during the trial of a husky young man who was charged with assault and battery. Throughout an especially severe cross-examination the defendant stoutly maintained that he had merely pushed the plaintiff "a little bit."
"Well, about how hard?" queried the prosecutor.
"Oh, just a little bit," responded the defendant.
"Now," said the attorney, "for the benefit of the judge and the jury, you will please step down here and, with me for the subject, illustrate just how hard you mean."
Owing to the unmerciful badgering which the witness had just been through, the prosecutor thought that the young man would perhaps overdo the matter to get back at him, and thus incriminate himself.