"
Mose stretched forth his hand, and with a sharp pencil rap upon the
desk, the Judge commanded: "Stand where you are."
[Illustration: "IF YOU AIR THE JEDGE, I AM SORTER DISERP'INTED IN YOU."]
"If you air the Jedge," said Laz, gazing intently, "I am sorter
diserp'inted in you. I thought a United States Jedge must be about eight
feet high."
"Well, never mind what you thought. You are here to tell what you know.
Here, you," he added, speaking to Mose, "what is your name?"
"M--M--M--M--M--M--"
"Well, never mind. Where do you live?"
"Well, if y--y--y--y--you don't know a feller's n--n--n--name it don't
m--m--m--make no d--d--d--diffunce whar he lives, d--d--d--does it?"
Laz struck in. "He won't tell you a lie, Jedge. He won't have time."
Rap, rap, at Laz.
"Never mind, sir. I will attend to you presently. You," he said,
speaking to Mose. "Did you ever see Mr. Starbuck make whiskey?"
"Well, I've seed him m--m--m--m--make l--l--l--lasses."
The Judge grew impatient. "Do you know why you are here?"
"B--b--b--b--because they c--c--c--c--cotch me.
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