'
'You were with him when he died?'
'Near him.'
'How did that happen--your presence, I mean ? '
'I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish.
A part of my purpose, however, was to study him
and his odd, solitary way of life. He seemed a good
model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write
stories.'
'I sometimes read them.'
'Thank you.'
'Stories in general--not yours.'
Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre
background humour shows high lights. Soldiers in
the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the
death chamber conquers by surprise.
'Relate the circumstances of this man's death,'
said the coroner. 'You may use any notes or mem-
oranda that you please.'
The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript
from his breast pocket he held it near the candle and
turning the leaves until he found the passage that
he wanted began to read.
2: What may Happen in a Field of Wild Oats
'. . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the
house. We were looking for quail, each with a shot-
gun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that
our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that
he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail through
the chaparral. On the other side was comparatively
level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we
emerged from the chaparral Morgan was but a few
yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at a little
distance to our right and partly in front, a noise as of
some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which
we could see were violently agitated.
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