It had promised to be a sensational divorce case, with the wife accused of incredible
escapades, but thus far it had all proved rather disappointing, with nothing more
than a few insinuations and vague generalities tossed back and forth.

But this was the day when the wife was to take the witness stand for the first time,
and the courtroom was filled to capacity.

Testifying before her own lawyer, she
projected an image of sweet innocence, as she told a tale of wifely fidelity and sacrifice.

At long last the wife's direct testimony came to an end,
and the husband's attorney was given the opportunity to cross-examine.

He first re-established her name, relationship to the plaintiff, and other details of
identification.

Then he picked up a paper from the table, studied it a moment,
turned to her and asked, "Is it not true, Madam, that on the night of June twelfth,
in a driving rainstorm, you had sexual intercourse with a certain circus midget on
the handle bars of a careening motorcycle that passed through the center of
Libertyville at speeds in excess of sixty miles per hour?"

The wife turned pale, but retained her remarkable self-control, and her voice was
almost perfectly steady as she asked, "What was that date again?"