“‘Are you ready to proceed with the case now, gentlemen?’ inquired Flipout, addressing the brigade of lawyers.
“‘I believe we are ready,’ replied Mr. Fullbrain, a red-faced lawyer, with large Roman nose, broad mouth and massive jaws. This distinguished lawyer was commonly called Hogjaw, which nickname had been suggested by the striking resemblance between his jaw and that of a fat Berkshire hog.
“‘We make a motion to quash the indictment in this case, if your Honor please,’ said Hogjaw, as he held the bill up before the court.
“‘State the grounds of your motion, if you please, Mr. Fullbrain,’ exclaimed the judge impatiently, as he began to warm up his nose with his finger, while his keen black eyes sparkled with anger.
“Mr. Quillet began to pace up and down the floor with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, while a defiant expression mantled his face. The clerks dropped their pens and moved to the front so as to witness the great brain-battle soon to be waged, while a motley crowd of idlers moved like an ocean wave toward the combatants, eager to view the interesting contest.
“Hogjaw surveyed the crowd for a moment, slowly running his eyes over the eager throng, as if inviting them to prepare for the intellectual banquet which he was about to dish out to them; then turning toward the court, he swelled out his brawny chest, as if taking in a supply of wind, which was to be converted into a terrific tornado, with which he expected to blow the attorney-general and his little bill of indictment out of the court-house.
“‘If your Honor please,’ began Hogjaw, ‘we think there is a fatal defect in this bill of indictment, a patent incurable defect which must appear as clear as the sun at noontide to the mind of an intelligent court. It is a source of indescribable regret to me, sir, to find such a glaring defect in this bill, as we would have greatly preferred to try this case on its merits, because we are happy to be able to inform your Honor that we are prepared to vindicate the innocence of our client. His distinguished reputation for honor and unblemished integrity—his lacerated feelings—his wounded pride—all cry aloud for redress. We feel an abiding confidence in our ability to clear our distinguished client with the brilliant array of witnesses who are ready to testify to his innocence, but we find the bill of indictment so fatally defective that we are driven to the necessity of making the motion to quash. We would gladly have avoided this course but for the duty which we owe to the legal profession, which tells us that such mistakes should not be encouraged or countenanced by lawyers who profess to have such a feeling as self-respect. Who is the man intended to be indicted under this bill? yes, who is the man? that is the question I dare to ask of this honorable court. This innocent, much injured man has been seized and ruthlessly dragged away from the bosom of his family, and treated as a common malefactor, all of which unpardonable wrongs have been inflicted upon him by the officers of the law acting under a mistaken belief that the grand jury had presented a bill of indictment, into open court against him. Now, sir, I boldly assert in the presence of this honorable court and high Heaven that no such thing has ever been done. A thing, a scrap of worthless paper, is filed here, which ignorant people might be deceived into believing was a bill of indictment, but you cannot cram such nonsense into the brains of sensible men. My client’s name is Anterson, which name I unhesitatingly assert cannot be spelled without a t, and if any man under the blue vault of Heaven will show me a t in connection with the name on this indictment, why, then, I promise to surrender the case. Doubtless the writer of this bill was endeavoring to make a t when that little deformed animal was made, but I have the temerity to assert that no gentleman with as much as a thimble full of brains in his head, or an ounce of self-respect in his heart, would undertake to call that animal a t in open court. So far as civilization extends, the English language is written and spoken, and that elegant language is composed of certain letters whose office it is to represent certain sounds. The twentieth letter in our alphabet is called t, which letter is made with a perpendicular stroke of the pen, then a horizontal stroke, making a cross near the top end of the upright line. Now we all know that the letter cannot be made without the cross. Your Honor is doubtless familiar with the wise and charming compositions of the celebrated poet Ramsquadlar, whose reputation is co-extensive with the world. That distinguished bard said:
“‘“When you can extract the salt from the sea,
Then without a cross can you make a t.
As sure as fog doth rise, the rain will fall,
T without a cross is no t at all.”
“‘Now, sir, if that eminent poet was correct in his beautiful composition, which I presume no one will be so bold as to doubt, I think it settles the hash (if I may be allowed the expression) with the motion now under consideration. If a t without a cross is no t at all, then it follows, as a matter of course, that no legal indictment has been filed against my client. If your Honor concedes that the t is not crossed—and that is too plain to admit of doubt—why then, of course, the motion to quash must prevail.’
“After haranguing the court for an hour, Hogjaw dropped, overcome with exhaustion, into his seat, while the brother members crowded round him to offer their congratulations. One fanned his red face, another brought him a glass of whisky and water, a third brought a napkin, while all the rest appeared to be anxious to render some friendly aid.