“Let an officer inform the prisoner of his rights,” says the district attorney, in the meantime calling Officer Jaspar to the stand. The “rights” of the prisoner are to cross-examine the witness. The officer who gives him this information must lift the prisoner’s wounded head from his bosom to do it. And, when he releases it again, it returns there. Officer Jaspar is the one who assisted Gorman to make the arrest, and, when he can be brought into his narrative, knows nothing which Gorman does not. He, however, had also used his club and his pistol to subdue the prisoner. “It seems to me,” cries the Commonwealth’s officer, “that it took an extraordinary quantity of shooting and clubbing to take one man.” “He’s a big un!” grins the witness. “You seem to have used your pistols first?” “Yes,” admits the officer. “You are the prosecutor,” says the district attorney to Mr. Hall, when he is brought to the stand. “We have not, thus far, proved that a watch was taken out of your possession by this man, and without that I shall not ask for a conviction. Are you sure that it was?” “Perfectly certain, sir,” answers Mr. Hall. “Well, tell the facts as briefly as possible to the jury,” says the law officer, whose hope of an early adjournment and some golf begins to grow doubtful. “Well, sir, I first saw the man at Chestnut and Tenth streets. He was walking fast, talking to himself, and he staggered. He ran against me and said something I could not understand, then went on rapidly down Chestnut Street. A moment after, when I looked what time it was, my watch was gone.” “And the chain—was there a chain?” “Yes, that was gone, too.” “Broken?” “No, the whole chain was taken.” “Are you sure of that? It is not easy for a thief to do.” “I am quite sure of that.” “Then, that’s my case,” yawns the happy officer of the forum. “I shall play golf at Bala this afternoon till six,” he says to his assistant. V THE QUALITY OF JUSTICE A young man sitting at the counsel table, and grown diffident the moment he finds himself on his feet, rises to address the court. “If the court pleases,” he begins, and the court awakes with a start from a revery of dinner. “Eh? Who is he?” the court whispers to the district attorney. The officer scowls back and answers that he does not know. The young man has heard. “I am John Forrest, if the court pleases, admitted yesterday.” “Precisely, sir,” smiles the court, icily; “but you are interrupting the trial of a cause. Your motion will have to wait until it is concluded—unless it is imperative.” “It is imperative,” says the young lawyer. “Ah, then, proceed,” says the judge, “and pray be brief.” “I ask leave to conduct the defence of the prisoner. I know him—I know his language—I believe him innocent.” The prosecuting officer leaps to his feet.