Everybody was, flushed and perspiring; the summer heat was almost
unendurable.
Tom Driscoll had brought a charge of assault and battery against the
twins. Robert Allen was retained by Driscoll, David Wilson by the
defense. Tom, his native cheerfulness unannihilated by his back-breaking
and bone-bruising passage across the massed heads of the Sons of Liberty
the previous night, laughed his little customary laugh, and said to
Wilson:
“I’ve kept my promise, you see; I’m throwing my business your way.
Sooner than I was expecting, too.”
“It’s very good of you–particularly if you mean to keep it up.”
“Well, I can’t tell about that yet. But we’ll see. If I find you
deserve it I’ll take you under my protection and make your fame and
fortune for you.”
“I’ll try to deserve it, Tom.”
A jury was sworn in; then Mr. Allen said:
“We will detain your honor but a moment with this case. It is not one
where any doubt of the fact of the assault can enter in. These
gentlemen–the accused–kicked my client at the Market Hall last night;
they kicked him with violence; with extraordinary violence; with even
unprecedented violence, I may say; insomuch that he was lifted entirely
off his feet and discharged into the midst of the audience. We can prove
this by four hundred witnesses–we shall call but three. Mr. Harkness
will take the stand.”
Mr. Harkness, being sworn, testified that he was chairman upon the
occasion mentioned; that he was close at hand and saw the defendants in
this action kick the plaintiff into the air and saw him descend among the
audience.
“Take the witness,” said Allen.
“Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, “you say you saw these gentlemen, my
clients, kick the plaintiff. Are you sure–and please remember that you
are on oath–are you perfectly sure that you saw both of them kick him,
or only one? Now be careful.”
A bewildered look began to spread itself over the witness’s face. He
hesitated, stammered, but got out nothing. His eyes wandered to the
twins and fixed themselves there with a vacant gaze.
“Please answer, Mr. Harkness, you are keeping the court waiting. It is
a very simple question.”
Counsel for the prosecution broke in with impatience:
“Your honor, the question is an irrelevant triviality. Necessarily, they
both kicked him, for they have but the one pair of legs, and both are
responsible for them.”
Wilson said, sarcastically:
“Will your honor permit this new witness to be sworn? He seems to
possess knowledge which can be of the utmost value just at this moment–
knowledge which would at once dispose of what every one must see is a
very difficult question in this case. Brother Allen, will you take the
stand?”
“Go on with your case!” said Allen, petulantly. The audience laughed,
and got a warning from the court.
“Now, Mr. Harkness,” said Wilson, insinuatingly, “we shall have to insist
upon an answer to that question.”
“I–er–well, of course, I do not absolutely know, but in my opinion–”
“Never mind your opinion, sir–answer the question.”
“I–why, I can’t answer it.”
“That will do, Mr. Harkness. Stand down.”
The audience tittered, and the discomfited witness retired in a state of
great embarrassment.
Mr. Wakeman took the stand and swore that he saw the twins kick the
plaintiff off the platform.
The defense took the witness.
“Mr. Wakeman, you have sworn that you saw these gentlemen kick the
plaintiff. Do I understand you to swear that you saw them both do it?”
“Yes, sir,”–with derision.
“How do you know that both did it?”
“Because I saw them do it.”
The audience laughed, and got another warning from the court.
“But by what means do you know that both, and not one, did it?”
“Well, in the first place, the insult was given to both of them equally,
for they were called a pair of scissors. Of course they would both want
to resent it, and so–”
“Wait! You are theorizing now. Stick to facts –counsel will attend to
the arguments. Go on.”
“Well, they both went over there–that I saw.”
“Very good. Go on.”
“And they both kicked him–I swear to it.”
“Mr. Wakeman, was Count Luigi, here, willing to join the Sons of Liberty