The doctor turned out to be a large man, well groomed and well fed, with a twinkle in his eye. He had gone to Narragansett Pier for the summer, whither Farrar had followed him. On being introduced, Mr. Cooke at once invited him out to have a drink.
“Did you know my uncle?” asked my client.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “I should say I did.”
“Poor old duffer,” said Mr. Cooke, with due solemnity; “I understand he was a maniac.”
“Well,” said the doctor, while we listened with a breathless interest, “he wasn’t exactly a maniac, but I think I can safely say he was a lunatic.”
“Then here’s to insanity!” said the irrepressible, his glass swung in mid-air, when a thought struck him, and he put it down again and looked hard at the doctor.
“Will you swear to it?” he demanded.
“I would swear to it before Saint Peter,” said the doctor, fervently.
He swore to it before a jury, which was more to the point, and we won our case. It did not even go to the court of appeals; I suppose the railroad thought it cheaper to drop it, since no right of way was involved. And the decision
