ee years it is discovered takin' a nap at a
county seat in th' corn belt, an' it hands down a decision f'r th'
defindant in a case f'r damages growin' out iv th' Shay rebillion.
Then it dhrops off again. Th' judge that thried th' case retires
to a well-arned job with a railrood comp'ny, th' jury has ceased
to look f'r their pitchers in th' pa-apers an' th' insurance
comp'nies insure young Cyanide's life f'r the lowest known premyum.
Occasionally a judge iv th' coort iv appeals walkin' in his sleep
meets another judge, an' they discuss matthers. 'How ar-re ye
gettin' on with th' Cyanide case, judge?' 'I'm makin' fair headway,
judge. I r-read part iv th' vardict iv th' coroner's jury las'
year an' nex' month whin th' fishin' is over, I expict to look
into th' indictment. 'Tis a puzzlin' case. Th' man is not guilty.'
'Well, good bye, judge; I'll see ye in a year or two. Lave me
know how ye're gettin' on. Pleasant dhreams!' An' so they part.
Th' higher up a coort is, th' less they see iv each other. Their
office hours are fr'm a quarther to wan leap years. Ye take a
lively lawyer that's wurruked twinty hours a day suin' sthrect
railrood comp'nies an' boost him onto a high coort an' he can't
think out iv a hammock. Th' more exalted what Hogan calls th'
joodicyal station, th' more it's like a dormitory. Th' years rowl
by an' th' tillygraft op'rator that's been expictin' to sind a
rush tillygram through young Cyanide sees his ohms an' his volts
mouldin' an' no wurrud comes fr'm th' coort iv appeals but th'
murmur iv th' chief justice discussin' th' nullification theery.
But wan day, th' decision is wafted down. 'Th' coort finds,' it
says, 'that th' vardict was conthry to th' law an' th' ividince.
We seen this fr'm th' first. It's as plain as th' nose on ye'er
face. Th' judge was prejudiced an' th' jury was ignorant. Th'
ividince wasn't sufficient to hang a cat. We revarse th' decision
an' ordher a new thrile that full justice may be done. We cannot
help remarkin' at this time on th' croolty iv subjectin' this
unforchnit man to all these years iv torture an' imprisonment with
a case again' him which we see at a glance durin' th' Mexican war
cud not shtand th' test iv th' law.'

"But whin th' decision is carried to th' pris'ner, th' warden says
'Who?' 'P. Cyanide,' says th' clark iv th' coort. 'He's not here,'
says th' warden. 'On consultin' me books, I find a man iv that
name left in th' year sivinty-wan.'