"Oh, no, no!" the judge laughed suddenly. "Oh, you're mistaken, sergeant! I'm no judge." His expression, however, became thoughtful. "It's curious, though, that you should think that, because I do have a vague recollection that I once was a judge—though it may have been a dream—and I wanted nothing more than to forget it. I got so weary of having to be virtuous all the time. But, I'm sure it was only a dream. Aren't you?"
"Your honor!" the skinny nudist said plaintively. "I really think something ought to be done about our leaves!"
"Your leaves?" the judge asked.
"Yes, your honor. We need fresh ones desperately."
"My, my," the judge said admiringly, "don't you all look cool and comfortable, though?"
"Huh?" the nudist said. "You mean you aren't sore at us any more for being nudists?"
"Sore at you?" the judge said. "Why should I be sore at you? As a matter of fact I'll tell you a little secret." Abandoning the bench and descending to the floor, he lifted his robes to display a pair of bare and knobby knees. "On warm days I never wear pants!" he chortled.
"My gosh!" the nudist said.
"Hey, what about us?" Hotstuff said. "Are you going to let them off and send us up for taking pot shots at Mario?"
"Did you do that!" the judge said delightedly. "Of course I don't know this Mario of yours, but I'm sure it did the scamp a world of good to have his pot shot at." He looked around fondly at the assemblage. "But what are we all doing indoors on a lovely day like this? Why don't we all go on a picnic or something?"