forward in a frenzy of fear lest the question be ruled out. He begins
to argue.

"The question is perfectly proper; the witness ought to be permitted
to answer it." "No," says the other lawyer, "it is improper in form,
calls for a conclusion, and should not be allowed." The judge looks
puzzled. "Read that again," he says. The question is, "What kind of a
cow was it you saw in the plaintiff's garden?" "I still object," says
the lawyer. "The witness has not been shown to be an expert. If my
learned friend is going to attempt to qualify him as an expert, I
desire an opportunity to cross-examine him concerning his experience
in cows." "Not at all," answers the lawyer. "The question is entirely
proper and I stand on my legal rights." The judge hesitates; if he
does not rule correctly the lawyer will take an exception and the
Appellate Court may not like it. So he says, turning to the witness,
"You may answer, but I will reserve the question and decide it later
on a motion to strike out." "I except," says the lawyer. The jury look
relieved. The witness straightens up, the opposing lawyer sits back
in disgusted contempt at such a loose method of procedure. "Well,"
says the witness, "it was a red cow."

This may go on for some time.

"I move to strike the answer out," says the lawyer; and the argument
begins all over again.

Throughout the trial the client and the jury are waiting for these
objections and exceptions. The nature of an exception is a notice
served on the judge that his rulings are wrong. The theory is that if
he wants to change them he had better do so before the case goes to