“IN TOWN.”
WE are at court. The case is on. Poor Jobe, he is so worried and
troubled and downhearted that he dont seem to enthuse when the
officeseekin canderdates and polerticians are shakin of his hand and
tellin him that “we got there, and are now ready for ’96,” &c., &c.
Jobe he jist takes it, and says: “Is that so?”
Not one of all them polerticians or canderdate fellers seems to know
that one of their “old and respected citizens” is about to be foreclosed
out of house and home. Not one of them seems to care if he does know.
The leadinest idea in their minds is gittin office and enthusin over the
election. But I notice some of them dident come near, but seem kinder
cold toward Jobe. I spect they have heerd of the foreclosin and dont
want to be seen in our company.
Well, we got to town this mornin and come strait to court. I jist felt
as though the house would fall on me; I was so out of place.
But them lawyers and fellers what okepy that field over the fence from
the common herd, they jist walked around and whispered, and tiptoed, and
laffed, as though they was raised right there in that field all their
useless lives. Some of them even had nice tables to put their feet on,
and carpet and soft cheers and sich. Well, I spect the poor things were
brought up tender like, and it would hurt them to git along with common
things like taxpayers git along on.
[Illustration: “‘Mr. Court, Gaskins is here.’”]
Well, arter a while the judge come, and the officer opened court.
Then the case of
“RICHER, Plaintiff,
vs.
GASKINS, Defendant,”
was called.
I felt like as if Ide faint—gone like.
The judge asked if the parties to the case were in court and ready for
trial.
The lawyer for Congressman Richer got up and said he was “there and
ready.”
Then the court called for the “defendant, Gaskins.”
Poor Jobe he jist sot still and looked as white as a ghost. He never
moved.
I hunched him, and told him to “git up and answer.”
He said he couldent; he was sick.
The court, kinder mad like, called for “Gaskins” agin, when I riz up and
says:
“Mistur Court, Gaskins is here, and I am Betsy Gaskins, the lawful wife
of Jobe Gaskins, the defendant.”
“Whose your lawyer?” says the court.
“We haint got any,” says I.
“Youd better git counsel,” says the court, “if you desire to contest
this case.”
“Will counsel keep us from bein foreclosed?” says I.
The judge said the case would be decided on the law and evidence.
“Then,” says I, “what do we need of counsel? You have the law, and we
will give you the evidence, and if the court please, if our side needs
any pleadin, Ile do it myself.”
I hadent them words out of my mouth till up jumped Mr. Richer’s lawyer
and says:
“I ’bject.”
The court said that I could not do the pleadin, as I was not a party to
the case, nor had I a license to practice before the court.
I riz up agin.
“Mistur Judge,” says I, “what difference does it make who I am or what I
am, so long as I treat the court with respect, and know as much, or
nearly as much, about this case as any lawyer we could hire?
“If the case, Mistur Judge, is to be decided on the law and evidence,
and not on the pleadin, why cant I do what pleadin we need, as well as
some lawyer?”
I sot down.
The judge looked at me a minit over his specks.
“Well, Mrs. Gaskins,” says he, “if we allowed anybody and everybody to
come into our courts and represent a neighbor or friend, half our
lawyers would have nothin to do. The law prohibiting this privilege is
made so as to afford our attorneys a livelihood. While it sometimes
proves a hardship to litigants, it would be a greater hardship on our
lawyers if they dident have sich a law in their favor. However, Mrs.
Gaskins, as this is a case of small importance, if the bar is willing I
will permit you to say what you desire in behalf of the defendant.”
Turnin to the lot of high-toned cattle over the fence from us, says he:
“What do you say, gentlemen?”
[Illustration: “‘I ’bject.’”]
They kind a hemmed and hawed and whispered together, and looked
disgusted and disappinted and contemptible, and finally one of them
says:
“We shant ’bject.”
And four or five of em got up and left, lookin like as if they had lost
somethin.
Well, the judge invited us over into the field.
We went in, and I sot down by a table. The lawyer for Mr. Richer got up
and stated his case. He said that he would prove that a number of years
ago one Jobe Gaskins purchased from the Honorable D. M. J. Richer
certain lands and tenements to the value of $3,800; that there has been
but $1,700 paid on the amount; that there remains due and unpaid some
$2,100, which is secured by mortgage. And he was there to pray for the
foreclosure of said mortgage and sale of the premises to satisfy said
claim.
He sot down.
I got up.
I says, says I: “Mistur Judge, this here case haint just exactly like
that there lawyer said. We claim there haint no $2,100 still due Mr.
Richer, although he has our notes and a mortgage for that amount. We
claim that he has got nearly full value for all we got from him. We have
paid him $1,700 of the principal and over $2,200 in interest. The land,
for some cause, haint worth now as much as we paid for it, and we expect
to prove that Jobe haint done anything to cause the land to fall in
value. The land may now be worth $2,500, if we could find some one that
had the money and wanted to buy land. If we are foreclosed and forced to
sell it, it may not bring more than the $2,100 that he claims we owe
him.
“Now, we want to be fair with Congressman Richer, Mistur Judge, and all
we ask is that Mr. Richer and his likes what lends money be treated by
the law and the courts the same as Jobe and his likes what owes money is
treated.
“Now, as I said before, Mistur Judge, the farm is the same size as it
was the day we bought it; the land is jist as good; the improvements are
better. We have paid Mr. Richer his interest every year for sixteen
years, and $1,700 besides.
“Now, Mistur Judge, wouldent it be fair for Mr. Richer to take the farm
back and give us our $1,700? He would have jist what he had before we
bought it, and he would have $2,212 interest money for the use of it,
and we would have the $1,700 we have paid him over and above the
interest.
“Or, if he dont want to do that, Mistur Judge, we will value the farm at
$2,500, which is all or more than its worth to-day, and will pay him the
difference between the $1,700 we already have paid and the $2,500, or
$800, in cash.
“Now, Mistur Judge, this would be honest and fair, and he can take his
choice, while if you foreclose us, and the farm at sheriff sale only
brings $2,100, and Mr. Richer buys it in, he will have the farm he had
at fust, our $1,700 principal and the $2,212 interest money we have paid
him, or he will have the farm and $3,912 in money, and we in our old age
will have nothin.”
When I was through the other lawyer got up and said sich argament was
all bosh and contrary to law; that the court had too good sense to be
governed by sich anachristic talk from a rattle-brained woman. At that,
it bein noon, the court dismissed for dinner, without explainin why this
was “a case of small importance.” It looks to me that its a purty
tolerable important case to Jobe and me.