They were there, the
most of them, to hear the close of the now celebrated Burnham case.
The judge came in from a side door and took his seat on the bench.
Beneath him the prothonotary was busy writing in a big book. Down in
the bar the attorneys sat chatting familiarly and pleasantly with one
another. Sharpman was there, and Craft was at his elbow.
Goodlaw was there, and Mrs. Burnham sat in her accustomed place. The
crier opened court in a voice that could be heard to the farthest end
of the room, though few of the listeners understood what his "Oyez!
oyez! oyez!" was all about.
Some opinions of the court were read and handed down by the judge. The
prothonotary called the jury list for the week. Two or three jurors
presented applications for discharge which were patiently considered
and acted on by the court.
The sheriff arose and acknowledged a bunch of deeds, the title-pages
of which had been read aloud by the judge.
An attorney stepped up to the railing and presented a petition to the
court; another attorney arose and objected to it, and quite a little
discussion ensued over the matter. It finally ended by a rule being
granted to show cause why the petition should not be allowed. Then
there were several motions made by as many lawyers. All this took much
time; a good half-hour at least, perhaps longer.
Finally there was a lull. The judge was busily engaged in writing. The
attorneys seemed to have exhausted their topics for conversation and
to be waiting for new ones.
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