The bailiff repeated, "Come along, Cornell." Then he added sourly, "Or
I'll have to slip the cuffs on you."
I turned with a helpless shrug. I'd tried to lick 'em and I'd tried to
join 'em and I'd failed both. Then, as of this instant when I might have
been able to go join 'em, I was headed for the wrong side as soon as I
opened my big yap. And if I didn't yelp, I was a dead one anyway. Sooner
or later someone in the local jug would latch on to my condition and
pack me off to Scholar Phelps' Medical Center.
Once more I was in a situation where all I could do was to play it by
ear, wait for a break, and see if I could make something out of it.
But before I could take more than a step or two toward the big door,
someone in the back of the courtroom called out:
"Your Honor, I have some vital information in this case."
His Honor looked up across the court with a great amount of irritation
showing in his face. His voice rasped, "Indeed?"