chanced to fall on an
invitation which he had received from Mr. Wesley Tiffles, to meet him at
the Cortlandt street ferry at seven and a quarter o'clock that morning,
and accompany him and his panorama of Africa to New Jersey. The day
before, when this invitation came to hand, he had determined not to
accept it; but it now seemed to offer him a capital chance to see some
excitement and ran. As these remedies were precisely what his mental
malady required, he jumped to dress himself, and hurried out of the
house, seeing nobody as he made his exit, and leaving no word of
explanation. He took no luggage, except a clean collar, as he intended
to return the following day. He was even so careless and forgetful as to
leave his purse behind him, and found, on reaching the ferry, that he
had barely two dollars in his pocket.

QUESTION BY A JUROR. "Wos they bank bills; and, if so, what bank wos
they on?"

Marcus answered the question to the best of his knowledge, and the juror
sagely nodded, and took the reply under treatment.

"I say, Tubbs," cried the coroner, "wot's the use of askin' them kind o'
questions?"

Tubbs looked up from his ruminations, somewhat confused. The politic
Overtop--that model of a rising lawyer--here put in a word for Tubbs,
and said that the question, in his opinion, was a very pertinent one,
for it went to test the memory of his client. If Mr. Wilkeson had just
committed murder, he would hardly be in that calm frame of mind which is
necessary to the recollection of small facts. He hoped that the
ingenious gentleman would ask many more such questions. By these
judicious remarks, Overtop gained one fast friend for his client on
the jury.

CHAPTER III.

JUSTICE GOES TO DINNER.

Wesley Tiffles was then examined. He commenced with an eloquent
dissertation on the rights of man, and his own rights in particular, but
stopped when he saw that the reporters tucked their pencils behind their
ears, and waited for facts. The moment he began to talk facts--which are
to reporters what corn is to crows--down came the pencils from their
perches again, and went tripping over the paper.

Mr. Tiffles's testimony would have consumed two hours, or two days,
perhaps, if he had been allowed to go on unchecked. But the coroner had
been invited to dine at a Broadway restaurant, with a few political
friends, at three P.M. So he concluded, after Tiffles had talked five
minutes, that he knew nothing about the murder,