“And, finally, squire,” he said, “if the train had been run as she should have been ran, and if the bell had been rung as she should have been rang, and if the whistle had been blowed as she should have been blew—both of which they done neither—this here cow would not have been injured at the time she was killed.” As he sat down the new justice in a voice husky with feeling, said: “I’ve done heared enough! Plaintiff wins!” and proceeded to enter judgment for the full amount of damages. But the lawyer for the other side protested. He insisted he had a right to be heard, and, though the justice said he had already made up his mind, he admitted that it was no more than fair for the young gentleman to make a speech, too, if he wanted to. The lawyer for the railroad cut his moorings and went straight up. He was a genuine silver tongue. He soared right into the clouds. Among other matters pertinent to the issue, he introduced the American Eagle, Magna Charta, First and Second Manassas, Paul Revere’s Ride and the Bonny Blue Flag Which Bears but a Single Star, concluding the whole by giving the Rebel Yell. As he sank into his seat the justice, with a touch of the true old Jeffersonian simplicity, wiped his streaming eyes upon his shirt sleeve, and in a voice quivering with sobs exclaimed: “Well, don’t that beat all! Defence wins!” § 29 The Unuttered Wish A North Carolina mountain woman fell ill, and for the first time in his life her husband had to work. It devolved upon him to nurse the invalid, look after a large family of tow headed children, milk the cow, feed the pig, cook the meals and tend a straggly acre of corn. After ten days of these frightful labors he staggered down to the general store at the forks of the road and fell at the doorway in an exhausted heap. The storekeeper came out and said: “Hello, Anse, how’s yore wife?” “She ain’t no better,” moaned the husband. “I paid out a whole four bits fur a bottle of bitters fur her, but it seems like hit don’t do her no good. I’m plumb wore out!” He paused a moment and sighed deeply. “Sometimes,” he said, “I git to wishin’ the old woman would git well—or somethin’!” § 30 The Gift of Tongues Over in France the average doughboy had a gorgeous confidence in his ability to speak the language of the country. In a Norman village one day a perplexed looking private, who had not been abroad very long, approached a seasoned campaigner of the A. E. F. and asked the latter if he spoke French. “Sure I speak French,” said the veteran. “What’s the matter?” “Here’s what’s the matter,” said the green soldier. “The Frog that keeps that shop yonder across the street sold me some post cards, and I gave him a ten franc note, and now he’s holding out part of my money on me. I wish you’d come on over there with me and straighten the thing out and make that guy hand me back what’s coming to me.” “Sure I will,” said the other.