“Well, I don’t know but you did. Sheep—calf—calf—sheep—same thing.”
“It may be in Dutch, but it isn’t in English by a long shot, Mr. Slump. Put that down, your honor, this ere intelligent witness doesn’t know the difference between a calf and a sheep. He says, your honor, that I said calf—and didn’t I also say his ears, availing Nirum’s, instead of its ears.”
“Well, I don’t know but you did,” gasps out the witness, looking frightened out of his wits.
“Put that down, your honor. I said his ears instead of its. I call for a nonsuit.”
“Call for a nonsuit!” ejaculates Kellogg, in a tone of indignant surprise—“on what ground, pray!”
“On three grounds, your honor—First, the declaration says that I called the plaintiff a thief in the hearing of ‘divers respectable persons,’ when the witness testifies that I said it in the presence of Loafer Joe and himself—the first one being the greatest vagabond, and the last the most infarnal fool in the village. That’s the fust ground. The second is, I didn’t say a ‘sheep’ at all, but a ‘calf,’ and that I’m ready to stand up to any day—(here Nirum aimed a blow at him with his crutch.) Oh, you needn’t fight about it, Mr. Coger. It’s true and you know it. Keep your crutches for your own carcass, you vagabone you. That’s the second ground. The third ground is that I said his ears instead of its ears, and that I’ll stand up to; also, for that very mornen this here limpen saddler was as drunk as an owl, and was a lyen in the woods above the village, with his ears, head and all, in an old rotten stump back of Coit’s Ridge. I know that, your honor, for I pulled him out myself, and all the thanks I got for it was abuse from the vagabone!”
In vain did Coger asseverate his innocence—(the story being, in point of fact, a lie of Abe’s from beginning to end, as Nirum was noted for his temperance all over the village, and was a Methodist class-leader in good standing, in addition). In vain did Kellogg start upon his feet and commence a loud denial of the whole story. The justice struggled not to smile—the constable grinned—the jury followed suit, the audience tittered, and the boys outside set up a yell like an Iroquois war-whoop, of “Hooraw for Abe Kettle!”
As for Abe himself, he looked round him in the most staid and sober manner, and then, after demanding for a second time his nonsuit, as he termed it, took his seat; and the justice, looking dark in the face with his efforts to conceal his laughter, dismissed the suit.
“I want a warrant for the costs, ef they aint paid on the spot,” says Abe. “I’m ready to swear, your honor—”
“Pay him the costs and be hanged to him,” ejaculated Kellogg to his client. “He’s ready to swear to any thing.”