"I should like to be heard on the question," said Mr. Tutt quickly.
"This is an important matter."

Unexpectedly a disgruntled-looking talesman in the back row held up his
hand.

"I'd like to ask a question myself," he announced defiantly, almost
arrogantly, after the manner of one with a grievance. "I'm a
hard-working business man. I've been dragged here against my will to
serve on this jury and decide if this defendant murdered somebody or
other. I don't see what difference it makes whether or not this witness
cut a tablecloth in two or murdered Fatima, the daughter of What's his
Name. I want to go home--sometime. If it is in order I'd like to suggest
that we get along."

Judge Wetherell started and peered with a puzzled air at this bold
shatterer of established procedure.

"Mister Juryman," said he severely, "these matters relate directly to
the credibility of the witness. They are quite proper.
I--I--am--surprised--"

"But, Your Honor," expostulated the iconoclast upon the back row, "I
guess nobody is going to waste much time over this Turkish snake
charmer! Ain't there a policeman or somebody we can believe who saw what
happened?"

"Bang!" went the judicial gavel.

"The juryman will please be silent!" shouted Judge Wetherell. "This is