“The Scrivener shrugged his shoulders as though in despair, and left me to my fate.
“Then was it that I heard the voice of the great Judge booming into my ears. ‘What evidence is there for the plaintiff?’
“I rose trembling. ‘I have given you all I have, Your Holiness.’
“‘You have given me none,’ thundered that tremendous personage. ‘All you have done is to make an opening plea.’
“‘I thought,’ stammered I, ‘that I had stated all that I had to state.’
“The Judge glanced round at his fellow lawyers with a look of despair, then leaning forward, with a sort of tenderness in his tone, he said: ‘Be good enough to mount the Sacred Stool reserved for the witnesses.’ With that a little block of wood was brought forward, and upon it I mounted, and so stood conscious and foolish before the Court.
“His Holiness the Judge leaned back on his throne and surveyed me with the contempt I deserved, nor did he repress the little titter that ran through the assembly. An official squatted in front of the throne put a scroll into my hand, bade me put it to my forehead and repeat after him certain words, the sense of which I lost in my perturbation. But I did as I was bidden. After that I remained dumb. ‘Well,’ said His Holiness, sharply, after a long pause, ‘how much longer are we to wait?’
“‘Pray, your Godship, what would you have?’ said I.
“‘I would have your evidence,’ said the Judge.