Judge Horton looked over the tops of his steel-rimmed spectacles, first at the unkempt prisoner, and then around the courtroom.
“The court will provide counsel for your defense. Have you any choice?” he asked the prisoner.
The prisoner had not. He didn’t know one man from another in the courtroom. A faint suspicion of a smile showed on District Attorney Master’s face. He winked slyly at several of his brother attorneys, and even smiled rather knowingly at the judge when he made the suggestion that the court appoint Mr. Preston attorney for the defense. A titter went around the courtroom at this, and young John Preston flushed to the roots of his yellow hair as he arose and went forward to consult with his client.
“Honest to God, are you a lawyer?” asked the prisoner, in a voice that carried. It took nearly two minutes to restore decorum.
In spite of his embarrassment young Preston thanked the court and asked for a day’s postponement in order to acquaint himself with his client’s case. This was granted, and after adjournment the District Attorney took young Preston aside, put his hand patronizingly on his shoulder, and said:
“Great Scott, Johnnie, give the poor devil a square deal! The only thing in the world for him is a plea of guilty and a request for leniency.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Preston rather stiffly, “but I at least want to know something of my client’s case.”
“Now, now, Johnnie, you must learn to take things in the proper spirit. Every young lawyer must have his first case, and he must expect a certain amount of good-natured raillery over it, and, believe me, it isn’t every man fresh from law school who gets a murder case for the very first thing. Be sensible about it, boy. I’m advising you for your father’s sake. We were partners, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Preston.
“Oh, don’t be stubborn, Johnnie! Why, dash it all, the prisoner has confessed!”