"You chump, you, don't you know if you killed a man's cow that way you'd be guilty of a felony and they'd send you to the peni tentiary?" said Boyd, indignantly. "But Colonel Davis said to shoot her." "He did, eh? What does he know about law I'd like to know! Never won a case in his life except by a scratch on some miser able technicality. But do as you please, Jim—kill her and go to the pen if you want to." Jim went back to Davis and told him what Boyd had said. "Said I didn't know anything about law, did he?" roared the Colonel. "Well, we'll see who's right. You come in next Satur day with your hay, and a 'gun, and if that cow gets near your wagon shoot her down! If they send you to the pen I'll go in your place! I'll teach that fellow what I don't know about the law." "But, Colonel," protested the hay mer chant, "he read me a whole lot of stuff out of the books, and said there was no getting around it." "Read fiddlesticks!" thundered Davis. "He's dead wrong, I tell you. I know, be cause that old speckled heifer's mine!" Miss SABAH DOBSON a maiden lady of fairly certain age, was suing a couple of doctors for malpractice—setting the bones of her wrist unskilfully. The case was on trial in the Macón Circuit Court before the late Jud'ge Andrew Ellison. On direct ex amination the plaintiff slipped across the age question by stating she was past twenty-five. It was evident to the most indifferent ob server that in order to see forty-five any more she would have to be born again. The lawyer who cross-examined for the doctors got a stubborn hold of the idea that the plain tiff's exact age was important. His name was Major B. R. Dysart, and he was a very kindly old gentleman except when witnesses tried to dodge him. "How old did you say you were, Miss Sarah?" he asked. "Twenty-five—past."

449

"How much past?" "Oh, a few months—a year, perhaps." "Are you 26?" "Y-e-s, I guess so." "Just 26? How many months over 26 are you, Miss Sarah?" "A month or two." "Twelve or 13?" "Yes—12 or 13. Now, will that do you?" snappishly. "Thirteen months past 26 would make you 27 and one month. Now, Miss Sarah, isn't it a fact you are fully 30 years old" "Sir!" " And some more?" finished Dysart, severely. "Answer the question, Miss Sarah." "Well, what if I am?" "Then you are 30 years old? And a few months past, perhaps?" "Yes—a few." "Twelve or thirteen?" suggested Dysart, gently. • "Have it your own way, Major Dysart." "Thirteen months past 30 would make it 31 years and one month." "All right, if you want to insult me just 'cause I'm a defenseless woman." "I'm not insulting you. I just want to know how old you are." "If you were a gentleman you would know it was improper to ask a lady her age." Dysart looked appealingly at the court. She had touched him on a sensitive point. "I would suggest, Major," said Judge Elli son, with just a perceptible twinkle around his keen gray eyes, "that you call it 35 years ct a/. The jury will understand that." But Dysart was determined. "So you won't tell me your age, Miss Sarah?" he asked. "You've had it once." "I have?" "Yes—the judge says 35 years ïs it all. That ought to satisfy you." "Oh!" "Is there anything else you want to know?" "No—we'll excuse you now, Miss Sarah."