Observations by Mr Dooley

o th' pris'ner waits an' dhreams he 's a lightnin' rod an' th' public waits an' ivrybody waits. Th' high coort is busy in its way. Ivry two or three years it is discovered takin' a nap at a county seat in th' corn belt, an' it hands down a decision f'r th' defindant in a case f'r damages growin' out iv th' Shay rebillion. Then it dhrops off again. Th' judge that thried th' case retires to a well-arned job with a railrood comp'ny, th' jury has ceased to look f'r their pitchers in th' pa-apers an' th' insurance comp'nies insure young Cyanide's life f'r the lowest known premyum. Occasionally a judge iv th' coort iv appeals walkin' in his sleep meets another judge, an' they discuss matthers. 'How ar-re ye gettin' on with th' Cyanide case, judge?' 'I'm makin' fair headway, judge. I r-read part iv th' vardict iv th' coroner's jury las' year an' nex' month whin th' fishin' is over, I expict to look into th' indictment. 'Tis a puzzlin' case. Th' man is not guilty.' 'Well, good bye, judge; I'll see ye in a year or two