Ed Rankin wondered what would happen if somebody should hit the wretch a whack over the head every time he raised an eyebrow. Somehow it struck him that the law was hardly equal to tackling "that kind."
The cross-examination brought out no new evidence.
The district attorney was especially persistent with the boy, the immediate victim in this instance.
"Victor," he said, "state to the jury why you accused your father of abusing you and wanting to kill you, if it wasn't true."
The boy hesitated.
"Don't be afraid to speak the truth. He sha'n't hurt you."
But the boy knew better.
"Sure I lied," he said.
"And what did you lie for?"
"Because I was mad."
"But what made you get mad with such a kind father?"
"Because he came into the cellar and found fault wid me about the potatoes."
"Had he reason to find fault with you?"
The boy looked at his father: one look was enough.
"Yes, sorr. I had an ugly fit on."
