The State rested. Mrs. Smilk was the first witness called by the
defense. She told a harrowing tale of Smilk's unparalleled efforts
to obtain work; of his heart-breaking disappointments; of her own
loyal and cheerful struggle to provide for the children,--and for
her poor sick husband,--by slaving herself almost to death at all
sorts of jobs. Futhermore, she was positive that poor Cassius had
reformed, that he was determined to lead an honest, upright life;
all he needed was encouragement and the opportunity to show his
worth. True, he had been in State's Prison twice, but in both
instances it was the result of strong drink. Now that prohibition
had come and he could no longer be subjected to the evils and
temptations of that accursed thing generically known as rum, he was
sure to be a model citizen and husband. In fact, she declared, a
friend of the family,--a man very high up in city politics,--had
promised to secure for Cassius an appointment as an enforcement
officer in the great war that was being waged against prohibition.
This seemed to make such a hit with the jury that Smilk's lawyer
shrewdly decided not to press her to alter the preposition.

The cross-examination was brief.

The State: "How many children have you, Mrs. Smilk?"

Mrs. Smilk: "Seven."

The State: "The defendant is the father of all of them?"

Mrs. Smilk, with dignity: "Are you tryin' to insinuate that he
ain't?"