Messiter! That’s luck! Why he’s the worst elocutionist in the force, sir.[*] [As he arranges the newspaper upon the table, he catches sight of Mr. Wormington’s necktie, which is bright red.] Well, I—excuse me, Mr. Wormington, but all the years I’ve had the honour of knowin’ you, sir, I’ve never seen you wear a necktie with, so to speak, a dash of colour in it.
* A City magistrate, censuring a constable for the indistinctness of his utterances in the witness box, suggested that the police should be instructed in a method of delivering evidence articulately.
Mr. Wormington.
Well, Lugg, no, that’s true, but to-day is an exceptional occasion with me. It is, in fact, the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marriage, and I thought it due to Mrs. Wormington to vary, in some slight degree, the sombreness of my attire. I confess I am a little uneasy in case Mr. Posket should consider it at all disrespectful to the Court.
Lugg.
Not he, sir.
Mr. Wormington.
I don’t know. Mr. Posket is punctiliousness itself in dress, and his cravat’s invariably black. However, it is not every man who has a silver wedding-day.
Lugg.