Part 9 (1/2)
That's the main question that I sent fur you to ast you.”
”Do I need a lawyer, Judge?”
”Well, there have been times when I regarded lawyers ez bein'
superfluous,” stated Judge Priest dryly. ”Still, in most cases litigants do have 'em round when the case is bein' heard.”
”I don't know ez I need any lawyer to he'p me say whut I've got to say,”
said O'Day. ”Judge, you ain't never ast me no questions about the way I've been carryin' on sence I come into this here money; but I reckin mebbe this is ez good a time ez any to tell you jest why I've been actin' the way I've done. You see, suh----”
”Hold on!” broke in Judge Priest. ”Up till now, ez my friend, it would 'a' been perfectly proper fur you to give me your confidences ef you were minded so to do; but now I reckin you'd better not. You see, I'm the judge that's got to decide whether you are a responsible person--whether you're mentally capable of handlin' your own financial affairs, or whether you ain't. So you'd better wait and make your statement in your own behalf to me whilst I'm settin' on the bench. I'll see that you git an opportunity to do so and I'll listen to it; and I'll give it all the consideration it's deservin' of.
”And, on second thought, p'raps it would only be a waste of time and money fur you to go hirin' a lawyer specially to represent you. Under the law it's my duty, in sech a case ez this here one is, to app'int a member of the bar to serve durin' the proceedin's ez your guardian _ad litem_.
”You don't need to be startled,” he added as O'Day flinched at the sound in his ears of these strange and fearsome words. ”A guardian _ad litem_ is simply a lawyer that tends to your affairs till the case is settled one way or the other. Ef you had a dozen lawyers I'd have to app'int him jest the same. So you don't need to worry about that part of it.
”That's all. You kin go now ef you want to. Only, ef I was you, I wouldn't draw out any more money frum the bank 'twixt now and the time when I make my decision.”
All things considered, it was an unusual a.s.semblage that Judge Priest regarded over the top rims of his gla.s.ses as he sat facing it in his broad armchair, with the flat top of the bench intervening between him and the gathering. Not often, even in the case of exciting murder trials, had the old courtroom held a larger crowd; certainly never had it held so many boys. Boys, and boys exclusively, filled the back rows of benches downstairs. More boys packed the narrow shelf-like balcony that spanned the chamber across its far end--mainly small boys, barefooted, sunburned, freckled-faced, shock-headed boys. And, for boys, they were strangely silent and strangely attentive.
The pet.i.tioner sat with his counsel, Mr. Sublette. The pet.i.tioner had been newly shaved, and from some mysterious source had been equipped with a neat wardrobe. Plainly he was endeavouring to wear a look of virtue, which was a difficult undertaking, as you would understand had you known the pet.i.tioner.
The defending party to the action was seated across the room, touching elbows with old Colonel Farrell, dean of the local bar and its most florid orator.
”The court will designate Col. Horatio Farrell as guardian _ad litem_ for the defendant during these proceedings,” Judge Priest had stated a few minutes earlier, using the formal and grammatical language he reserved exclusively for his courtroom.
At once old Colonel Farrell had hitched his chair up alongside O'Day; had asked him several questions in a tone inaudible to those about them; had listened to the whispered answers of O'Day; and then had nodded his huge curly white dome of a head, as though amply satisfied with the responses.
Let us skip the preliminaries. True, they seemed to interest the audience; here, though, they would be tedious reading. Likewise, in touching upon the opening and outlining address of Attorney-at-Law Sublette let us, for the sake of time and s.p.a.ce, be very much briefer than Mr. Sublette was. For our present purposes, I deem it sufficient to say that in all his professional career Mr. Sublette was never more eloquent, never more forceful, never more vehement in his allegations, and never more convinced--as he himself stated, not once but repeatedly--of his ability to prove the facts he alleged by competent and unbiased testimony. These facts, he pointed out, were common knowledge in the community; nevertheless, he stood prepared to b.u.t.tress them with the evidence of reputable witnesses, given under oath.
Mr. Sublette, having unwound at length, now wound up. He sat down, perspiring freely and through the perspiration radiating confidence in his contentions, confidence in the result and, most of all, unbounded confidence in Mr. Sublette.
Now Colonel Farrell was standing up to address the court. Under the cloak of a theatrical presence and a large orotund manner, and behind a Ciceronian command of sonorous language, the colonel carried concealed a shrewd old brain. It was as though a skilled marksman lurked in ambush amid a tangle of luxuriant foliage. In this particular instance, moreover, it is barely possible that the colonel was acting on a cue, privily conveyed to him before the court opened.
”May it please Your Honour,” he began, ”I have just conferred with the defendant here; and, acting in the capacity of his guardian _ad litem_, I have advised him to waive an opening address by counsel. Indeed, the defendant has no counsel. Furthermore, the defendant, also acting upon my advice, will present no witnesses in his own behalf. But, with Your Honour's permission, the defendant will now make a personal statement; and thereafter he will rest content, leaving the final arbitrament of the issue to Your Honour's discretion.”
”I object!” exclaimed Mr. Sublette briskly.
”On what grounds does the learned counsel object?” inquired Judge Priest.
”On the grounds that, since the mental competence of this man is concerned--since it is our contention that he is patently and plainly a victim of senility, an individual prematurely in his dotage--any utterances by him will be of no value whatsoever in aiding the conscience and intelligence of the court to arrive at a fair and just conclusion regarding the defendant's mental condition.”
Mr. Sublette excelled in the use of big words; there was no doubt about that.
”The objection is overruled,” said Judge Priest. He nodded in the direction of O'Day and Colonel Farrell. ”The court will hear the defendant. He is not to be interrupted while making his statement. The defendant may proceed.”
Without further urging, O'Day stood up, a tall, slab-sided rack of a man, with his long arms dangling at his sides, half facing Judge Priest and half facing his nephew and his nephew's lawyer. Without hesitation he began to speak. And this was what he said:
”There's mebbe some here ez knows about how I was raised and fetched up.
My paw and my maw died when I was jest only a baby; so I was brung up out here at the old county porehouse ez a pauper. I can't remember the time when I didn't have to work for my board and keep, and work hard.
While other boys was goin' to school and playin' hooky, and goin' in was.h.i.+n' in the creek, and playin' games, and all sech ez that, I had to work. I never done no playin' round in my whole life--not till here jest recently, anyway.