American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories; Western stories
The figure of Colonel Starbottle alone remained erect--white and rigid.
And then the Judge, looking up, saw--what no one else in the court had
seen--that the Colonel was sincere and in earnest; that what he had
conceived to be the pleader's most perfect acting and most elaborate
irony were the deep, serious, mirthless CONVICTIONS of a man without the
least sense of humor. There was the respect of this conviction in
the Judge's voice as he said to him gently, “You may proceed, Colonel
Starbottle.”
“I thank your Honor,” said the Colonel slowly, “for recognizing and
doing all in your power to prevent an interruption that, during my
thirty years' experience at the bar, I have never been subjected
to without the privilege of holding the instigators thereof
responsible--PERSONALLY responsible. It is possibly my fault that I have
failed, oratorically, to convey to the gentlemen of the jury the full
force and significance of the defendant's signals. I am aware that my
voice is singularly deficient in producing either the dulcet tones of my
fair client or the impassioned vehemence of the defendant's response.
I will,” continued the Colonel, with a fatigued but blind fatuity that
ignored the hurriedly knit brows and warning eyes of the Judge, “try
again. The note uttered by my client” (lowering his voice to the
faintest of falsettos) “was 'Keeree;' the response was 'Keerow-ow.'” And
the Colonel's voice fairly shook the dome above him.
Another uproar of laughter followed this apparently audacious
repetition, but was interrupted by an unlooked-for incident. The
defendant rose abruptly, and tearing himself away from the withholding
hand and pleading protestations of his counsel, absolutely fled from
the court-room, his appearance outside being recognized by a prolonged
“Keerow” from the bystanders, which again and again followed him in the
distance.
In the momentary silence which followed, the Colonel's voice was heard
saying, “We rest here, your Honor,” and he sat down. No less white, but
more agitated, was the face of the defendant's counsel, who instantly
rose.
“For some unexplained reason, your Honor, my client desires to suspend
further proceedings, with a view to effect a peaceable compromise with
the plaintiff. As he is a man of wealth and position, he is able and
willing to pay liberally for that privilege. While I, as his counsel, am
still convinced of his legal irresponsibility, as he has chosen publicly
to abandon his rights here, I can only ask your Honor's permission to
suspend further proceedings until I can confer with Colonel Starbottle.”
“As far as I can follow the pleadings,” said the Judge gravely, “the
case seems to be hardly one for litigation, and I approve of the
defendant's course, while I strongly urge the plaintiff to accept it.”
Colonel Starbottle bent over his fair client. Presently he rose,
unchanged in look or demeanor. “I yield, your Honor, to the wishes of my
client, and--er--lady. We accept.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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