It all took place in a minute.
Then Ralph began to talk again:--
"Rhymin' Joe said so; he said I was Simon Craft's grandson; he told--"
Sharpman interrupted him. "Come with me, Ralph," he said, "I want to
speak with you a minute." He reached out his hand, as if to lead him
away; but Goodlaw stepped between them, saying, sternly:--
"He shall not go! The boy shall tell his story unhampered; you shall
not crowd it back down his throat in private!"
"I say the boy shall go," replied Sharpman, angrily. "He is my client,
and I have a right to consult with him."
This was true. For a moment Goodlaw was at his wit's end. Then, a
bright idea came to him.
"Ralph," he said, "take the witness-stand."
Sharpman saw that he was foiled.
He turned to the court, white with passion.
"I protest," he exclaimed, "against this proceeding! It is contrary
to both law and courtesy. I demand the privilege of consulting with
my client!"
"Counsel has a right to call the boy as a witness," said the judge,
dispassionately, "and to put him on the stand at once. Let him be
sworn."
Ralph pushed his way up to the witness-stand, and the officer
administered the oath. He was a sorry-looking witness indeed.
At any other time or in any other place, his appearance would have
been ludicrous. But now no one laughed. The people in the court-room
began to whisper, "Hush!" fearing lest the noise of moving bodies
might cause them to lose the boy's words.
To Goodlaw it was all a mystery.
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