"Infancy!" cried Moon, jerking his red pencil in the air with a gesture of
enlightenment; "why, that explains it!"
"I repeat," proceeded Inglewood, "that neither Dr. Pym nor any one else can
account on any other theory but ours for the Warden's signature, for the shots
missed and the witnesses missing."
The little Yankee had slipped to his feet with some return of a cock-fighting
coolness. "The defence," he said, "omits a coldly colossal fact. They say we
produce none of the actual victims. Wal, here is one victim--England's celebrated
and stricken Warner. I reckon he is pretty well produced. And they suggest that
all the outrages were followed by reconciliation. Wal, there's no flies on England's
Warner; and he isn't reconciliated much."
"My learned friend," said Moon, getting elaborately to his feet, "must remember
that the science of shooting Dr. Warner is in its infancy. Dr. Warner would strike
the idlest eye as one specially difficult to startle into any recognition of the glory
of God. We admit that our client, in this one instance, failed, and that the
operation was not successful. But I am empowered to offer, on behalf of my
client, a proposal for operating on Dr. Warner again, at his earliest convenience,
and without further fees."
"'Ang it all, Michael," cried Gould, quite serious for the first time in his life, "you
might give us a bit of bally sense for a chinge."
"What was Dr. Warner talking about just before the first shot?" asked Moon
"The creature," said Dr. Warner superciliously, "asked me, with characteristic
rationality, whether it was my birthday."
