“Of course,” answered Cresswell. “But why prolong the thing?”
“You see, she’s got your cotton tied by injunction.”
“I don’t see how she did it.”
“Easy enough: this Judge is the poor white you opposed in the last primary.”
Within a week the case was called, and they filed into the courtroom. Cresswell‚Äôs lawyer saw only this black woman‚ÅÝ‚Äîno other lawyer or sign of one appeared to represent her. The place soon filled with a lazy, tobacco-chewing throng of white men. A few blacks whispered in one corner. The dirty stove was glowing with pinewood and the Judge sat at a desk.
“Where’s your lawyer?” he asked sharply of Zora.
“I have none,” returned Zora, rising.
There came a silence in the court. Her voice was low, and the men leaned forward to listen. The Judge felt impelled to be over-gruff.
“Get a lawyer,” he ordered.
“Your honor, my case is simple, and with your honor’s permission I wish to conduct it myself. I cannot afford a lawyer, and I do not think I need one.”
Cresswell’s lawyer smiled and leaned back. It was going to be easier than he supposed. Evidently the woman believed she had no case, and was weakening.
The trial proceeded, and Zora stated her contention. She told how long her mother and grandmother had served the Cresswells and showed her