“Case of the People against Atkins,” he says. “Is the defendant present?” “I be,” says Mr. Atkins. “You’re charged with being a vagrant. Guilty or not guilty?” “Wa-al,” says Mr. Atkins, looking like a banker that was thinking about lending fifty thousand dollars, “there’s two ways of lookin’ at it.” “What two ways?” says Mr. Gage. “If you look at it from the point of view that what I’m doin’ makes me a vagrant, then I be one; but if you look at it from the point of view that what I’m doin’ _don’t_ make me a vagrant, then I hain’t.” I looked back, and you could see heads nodding all over the room. Those words of Mr. Atkins’s coming right out of that kind of whiskers sounded as if they were a little wiser than Solomon. “What do you think?” says the judge. “I think I hain’t,” says Mr. Atkins. “Defendant pleads not guilty,” says Mr. Gage. “Town-marshal Piddlecomb, take the stand.” The town marshal shuffled up and sat down and lifted up his hand and swore he would tell the truth. “Know this defendant?” asked the judge. “Seen him some.” “You made the charge ag’in’ him?” “I done so.” “Why?” “Your wife told me to.” “Um!... Charge him with bein’ a vagrant, don’t you? That’s your charge?” “Ya-as.... Him and his boy is tramps. They footed it into town. No visible means of support. Livin’ in that there old shanty down by the bayou. Ordered him to git out of town, and he refused. Don’t work. Jest a tramp.” “That all?” “Plenty, hain’t it?” “Sounds that way. Step down. Defendant got anythin’ to say?” Catty nudged his father and Mr. Atkins stood up and walked to the witness’s chair. With his beard and hair-cut, and those brand-new painter’s clothes, he looked fine. He didn’t look any more like a tramp than the Methodist minister, and the folks in the courtroom sort of grunted out loud. Mr. Gage looked at him and then looked at his wife and goggled his eyes. He was considerable flabbergasted, I judged. “You are Mr. Atkins, the defendant in this case?” “Calc’late to be.” “Hear what the town marshal jest said?” “Every word of it, from beginnin’ to end.” “Did he tell the truth?” “Not more ’n he could help,” says Mr. Atkins, and everybody in the room let out a laugh. “Did you tramp into town?” “Walked in. Any crime to walkin’? Never heard walkin’ was a crime.” “Live in that old shanty by the bayou?” “Don’t live there. Jest sort of campin there, fishin’ in the bayou. Campin’-like. Any crime to campin’?” “Town marshal says you got no visible means of support.” “How’s he know?” says Mr. Atkins. “That feller don’t know but what I got a million dollars in gov’ment bonds and go around clippin’ off a coupon whenever I need one.” “Have you a business?” “Painter ’n’ decorator.” “Where’s your place of business?”