sees de sinner
standin' 'fo' de bar o' de Lord, an' de witnesses on de stan', an' de
speckletators pressin' for'ard to heah, an' de jury listenin', an
_me--I'm de prosecutin' 'torney_!

"An' when I gits dat whole co't-room 'ranged 'fo' my eyes in my min',
an' de pris'ner standin' in de box, I des reg'lar _lay 'im out_! You
see, I knows all de law words ter do it _wid_! I des open fire on 'im,
an' prove 'im a crim'nal, a law-breaker, a vagabone, a murderer in ev'y
degree dey is--fus', secon', _an_' third--a reperbate, an' a blot on de
face o' de yearth, tell dey ain't a chance lef' fur 'im but ter fall on
'is knees an' plead guilty!

"An' when I got 'im down, _I got 'im whar I want 'im_, an' de work's
half did. Den I shif's roun' an' ac' _pris'ner's 'torney_, an' preach
grace tell I gits 'im shoutin'--des de same as ole marster use ter
do--clair a man whe'r or no, guilty or no guilty, step by step, nuver
stop tell he'd have de last juryman blowin' 'is nose an' snifflin'--an'
he'd do it wid swellin' dic'sh'nary words, too!

"Dat's de way I works it--fus' argify fur de State, den plead fur de
pris'ner.

"I tell yer, Marse John," he resumed, after a thoughtful pause, "dey's
one word o' ole marster's--I don'no' huccome it slipped my min', but hit
was a long glorified word, an' I often wishes hit'd come back ter me. Ef
I could ricollec' dat word, hit'd holp me powerful in my preachin'.

"Wonder ef you wouldn't call out a few dic'sh'nary words fur me, please,
sir? Maybe you mought strike it."

Without a moment's reflection, Marshall, seizing at random upon the
first word that presented itself, said, "How about _ratiocination_?"

The old man started as if he were shot. "Dat's hit!" he exclaimed.
"Yassir, dat's hit! How in de kingdom come is you struck it de fust pop?
Rasheoshinatiom! I 'clare! Dat's de ve'y word, sho's you born! Dat's
what I calls a high-tone word; ain't it, now, Marse John?"

"Yes, Uncle Reub'; ratiocination is a good word in its place." Marshall
was much amused. "I suppose you know what it means?"

"Nemmine 'bout dat," Reub' protested, grinning all over--"nemmine
'bout dat. I des gwine fetch it in when I needs a thunder-bolt!
Rasheoshinatiom! Dat's a bomb-shell fur de prosecutiom! But I can't git
it off now; I'm too cool. Wait tell I'm standin' in de pulpit on
tip-toes, wid de sweat a-po'in' down de spine o' my back, an' fin'
myse'f _des one argimint short_! Den look out fur de locomotive!

"Won't