He talked
at great length in a nasal tone, slowly and deliberately; he had one
foot on a form, one hand in a pocket of his pants, and the other hand
rested gracefully on a volume of the statutes of the State of
Illinois. He had much to say about various horses running on the
prairie, and particularly about one animal which he called the
"Skemelhorne horse." I tried to follow his argument, but the
"Skemelhorne horse" was so mixed up with the other horses that I
could not spot him.
Semicircular seats of unpainted pine for the accommodation of the
public rose tier above tier, but most of them were empty. There were
present several gentlemen of the legal profession, but they kept
silence, and never interrupted the counsel's address. Nor did the
judge utter a word; he sat at his desk sideways, with his boots
resting on a chair. He wore neither wig nor gown, and had not even
put on his Sunday go-to-meeting clothes. Neither had the lawyers.
If there was a court crier or constable present he was indistinguishable
from the rest of the audience.
Near the judge's desk there was a bucket of water and three tumblers
on a small table. It was a hot day. The counsel paused in his
speech, went to the table, and took a drink; a juryman left the box
and drank. The judge also came down from his seat, dipped a tumbler
in the bucket and quenched his thirst; one spectator after another
went to the bucket.
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