The group of people parted; and an elderly man came to the front, advancing in an uncertain, apologetic manner.
“Silence! silence!” cried the usher, a world of pained indignation in his accents.
“You mustn’t disturb the court, sir!” thundered the judge.
“I came to speak a word for Joe. I was passing, and dropped in, and, seeing Joe, I made bold to speak. He’s been a good son, has Joe.”
The judge looked appealingly at counsel.
“Who is Joe, and who is this person?” And getting no answer, he turned to the plaintiff. Young Mr. Pippitt met his eye with an uneasy smile.
“I haven’t the least idea, my lord,” he said.
The judge looked at the writ.
“Your name is Joseph?” he asked.
“No, it—yes—that is, certainly, my lord.”