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Goodlaw had hardly dared to expect anything else. There was nothing for him to do but to acquiesce in the ruling of the court. Ralph turned to face him with a question on his lips. "Mr. Goodlaw," he said, "ain't they goin' to let me tell what I heard Rhymin' Joe say?" "I am afraid not, Ralph; the court has ruled that conversation out."
He understood it all now; Ralph had overheard. "Who told you?" asked Goodlaw. "No one told me, I heard Rhymin' Joe " Sharpman interrupted him. "I don't know," he said, "if the court please, what this boy is trying to tell nor what wild idea has found lodgement in his brain; but I certainly object to the introduction of such hearsay evidence as counsel seems trying to bring out.
McGuire commented dryly: "I notice you ain't doin' no rhymin' to-day, Susan." "Ain't I? Well, perhaps I ain't. Some way, they don't come out now so natural an' easy-like." "What's the matter? Ain't the machine workin'?" Susan shook her head. Then she drew a long sigh. Picking up her empty basket she looked at it somberly. "Not the way it did before.
"You see, it wasn't just the rhymin' o' them verses, and they kinder sing themselves to ye, don't they? it wasn't the chyce o' words, and I reckon they allus hit the idee in the centre shot every time, it wasn't the idees and moral she sort o' drew out o' what she was tellin', but it was the straight thing itself, the truth!" "The truth?" repeated the editor. "Yes, sir. I've bin there.
"I caught a glimpse of you jest once." "When?" "When you went across the room an' gave Rhymin' Joe the money." Sharpman flushed angrily. He felt that he was treading on dangerous ground in this line of examination. He went on more cautiously. "At what time did you leave my office last night?" "Right after Rhymin' Joe did. I went out to find him."
The people back in the court-room had risen to their feet, to look down into the bar, and the constables were trying to restore order. 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."
Rhymin' Joe said so, an' he knows." "Did you see Rhyming Joe last night?" "No, sir. Only as he passed by me in the dark." "Have you seen him to-day?" "No, sir; he promised to go away this mornin'." "To whom did he make that promise?"
He smoothed back the tangled hair from the child's hot forehead and spoke rude words of comfort into his ears, and after a time Ralph grew quiet. "Do you think, Uncle Billy," asked Ralph, "'at Rhymin' Joe was a-tellin' the truth? He used to lie, I know he did, I've heard 'im lie myself."
I didn't think o' bein' mean that way, but when I heard Rhymin' Joe tell you 'at I wasn't Robert Burnham's son, I was so s'prised, an' scart-like 'at I couldn't speak." This was a little more than Sharpman wanted, but he kept on: "How long were you under the control of this spirit of muteness?" "Sir?" "How long was it before the power to speak returned to you?"
"Oh! not till Rhymin' Joe went out, I guess. I felt so bad I didn't want to speak to anybody." "Did you see this person whom you call Rhyming Joe?" "Only in the dark." "Not so as to recognize him by sight?" "No, sir." "How did you know it was he?" "By the way he talked." "How long is it since you have been accustomed to hearing him talk?" "About three years." "Did you see me last night?"
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