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This, however, W.M.P. did not know, and assumed that he was allowed to keep his four-thousand-dollar salary because the county could not get on without him. He was slender, wore a mouse-colored waistcoat, fawn tie and spats, and plastered his hair neatly down on each side of a glossy cranium that was an almost perfect sphere. "Ah! Mr. William Montague Pepperill, I believe?" inquired Mr.
Tunnygate bowed solemnly and lifted from the floor a paper parcel which he untied and from which he drew what remained of that now historic garment. "These are they," he announced dramatically. "I offer them in evidence," exclaimed Pepperill, "and I ask the jury to examine them with great care." They did so.
He had been born beneath the golden dome of the State House on Beacon Street, and from the windows of the Pepperill mansion his infant eyes had gazed smugly down upon the Mall and Frog Pond of the historic Common.
W. Montague Pepperill a certain confidence in the impeccability of himself, his family, his relatives, his friends, his college, his habiliments and haberdashery, his deportment, and his opinions, political, religious and otherwise. For W.M.P. the only real Americans lived on Beacon Hill, though a few perhaps might be found accidentally across Charles Street upon the made land of the Back Bay.
"You don't expect any juryman is going to read that thing, do you? Why, it looks as if a bumblebee had fallen into an ink bottle and then had a fit all over the front page." "I don't suppose " began Pepperill. "Go on and get your jury!" admonished the court. So the lion and the lamb in the shape of Mr.
This juryman is showing bias. This is entirely improper." "I am, am I?" sputtered the fat editor angrily. "I'll show you " "You want to be fair, don't you?" whined Pepperill. "I've proved that the Appleboys had no right to hedge in the beach!" "Oh, pooh!" sneered the Abyssinian, now also getting to his feet. "Supposing they hadn't? Who cares a damn? This man Tunnygate deserved all he's got!"
"You may proceed, Mister District Attorney!" he announced, and little Pepperill, the youngest of the D.A.'s staff, just out of the law school, begoggled and with his hair plastered evenly down on either side of his small round head, rose with serious mien, and with a high piping voice opened the prosecution. It was, he told them, a most unusual and hence most important case.
But rather than take the very slight chance of a conviction for murder I am letting discretion take the place of valor and offer to have him admit his guilt of manslaughter." "I guess," answered Pepperill laconically, indulging in his only frequent solecism, "that you wouldn't offer to plead to manslaughter unless you felt pretty sure your client was going to the chair! Now " Mr.
Pepperill looked pained, not knowing just how to prevent such jocoseness on the part of his adversary. "I object," he muttered feebly. "Quite properly!" agreed Mr. Tutt. "Now, Mr. Kahoots, are you a citizen of the United States?" Mr. Kahoots looked aggrieved. "Me? No! Me no citizen. I go back sometime Acre and build moving-picture garden and ice-cream palace." "I thought so," commented Mr. Tutt.
How in hell can you tell what they're talking about, anyway?" "You can't!" said the D.A. "Send the papers in to Pepperill and tell him on the side it'll make him famous. He'll believe you." "But it'll take ten weeks to try it!" wailed the chief clerk. "Well, send it down to old Wetherell, in Part Thirteen. He's got the sleeping sickness and it will be sort of soothing for him to listen to."
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