"Pemmican, I want your testimony in this case—I want it right. Have a cigar?"
Pemmican accepted, and finding a ready match in his pocket, struck it on the heel of his boot and lighted the cigar before the slow-moving Murgatroyd could pass him his matchbox.
"Thank you, counsellor, I have one," he said, and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. "You can depend on me; I'll tell the truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me—" His gaze returned again to the pigskin wallet on the desk. "But say, I never saw that thing before."
Murgatroyd picked it up and spoke in a still lower tone now.
"Pemmican, suppose I were to fill this with, well, say ten thousand dollars and give it to you; how would you testify in this case, eh?"
"But," protested Pemmican, "I never saw ten thousand dollars in it—No...."
"No," repeated Murgatroyd; "but if you should right now have it filled with ten thousand dollars, how would you testify for me?"
Pemmican stolidly shook his head and answered:
"To the truth, counsellor—I'm an honest man."
Murgatroyd still persisted.