CASS TIMBERLANE- A NOVEL OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES by SINCLAIR LEWIS.
The scene of this story, the small city of Grand Republic in
Central Minnesota, is entirely imaginary, as are all the
characters. But I know tJiat the diameters will be identified, each
of them with several different real persons in each of the Minne
sota cities in which I have happily lingered: in Minneapolis, St.
Paul, Winona, St. Cloud, Mankato, Fergus Falls and par ticularly,
since it is only a little larger than Grand Republic and since I
live there, in the radiant, sea-fronting, hillside city of Duluth.
All such guesses will be wrong, but they will be so convincing that
even the writer will be astonished to learn how exactly he has
drawn some judge or doctor or banker or housewife of whom he has
never heard, or regretful to discover how poison ously he is
supposed to have described people of whom he is particularly fond.
I UNTIL JINNY MARSHLAND was called to the stand, the Judge was
deplorably sleepy. The case of Miss Tilda Hatter vs. the City of
Grand Republic had been yawning its way through testimony about a
not very interesting sidewalk. Plaintiffs attorney desired to show
that the city had been remarkably negligent in leaving upon that
side walk a certain lump of ice which, on February 7, 1941, at or
about the hour of 9: 37 P. M., had caused the plaintiff to slip, to
slide, and to be prone upon the public way, in a state of ignominy
and sore pain. There had been an extravagant amount of data as to
whether the lump of ice had been lurking sixteen, eighteen, or more
than eighteen feet from the Clipper Hardware Store. And all that
May afternoon the windows had been closed, to keep out street
noises, and the court room had smelled, as it looked, like a
schoolroom. Timberlane, J., was in an agony of drowsiness. He was
faith ful enough, and he did not miss a word, but he heard it all
as in sleep one hears malignant snoring. He was a young judge: the
Honorable Cass Timberlane, of the Twenty-Second Judicial District,
State of Minnesota. He was forty-one, and in his first year on the
bench, after a term in Congress. He was a serious judge, a man of
learning, a believer in the majesty of the law, and he looked like
a tall Red Indian. But he was wishing that he were out
bass-fishing, or at home, reading Walden or asleep on a cool
leather couch. Preferably asleep. All the spectators in the room,
all five of them, were yawning and chewing gum. The learned counsel
for the plaintiff, Mr. Hervey Plint, the dullest lawyer in Grand
Republic, a middle aged man with a miscellaneous sort of face, was
questioning Miss Hatter. He was a word-dragger, an uh'er, a looker
to the ceiling for new thoughts. Uh Miss Hatter, now will you tell
us what was the uh the purpose of DEGREES our going out, that
evening I mean, I mean 3 how did you happen to be out on an evening
which I think all the previous testimony agrees that it was, well,
I mean, uh, you might call it an inclement evening, but not such as
would have prevented the, uh, the adequate cleaning of the
thorough* fares - ' Jekshn leading quest, said the city attorney.
Jekshn stained, said the Court. I will rephrase my question/'
confided Mr. Flint. He was a willing rephraser, but the phrases
always became duller and duller and duller. Sitting above them on
the bench like Chief Iron Cloud, a lean figure of power, the young
father of 'his people, Judge Timberlane started to repeat* the list
of presidents, a charm which usually would keep him awake. He got
through it fairly well, stumbling only on Martin Van Buren and
Millard Fill more, as was reasonable, but he remained as sleepy as
ever. Without missing any of Miss Hatter's more spectacular state
ments, His Honor pl
General
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