'Are you a friend of the prisoner?' asked the beak.
'I am in Mr Wooster's employment, Your Worship, in the capacity of gentleman's personal gentleman.'
'Then pay the fine to the clerk.'
'Very good, Your Worship.'
The beak gave a coldish nod in my direction, as much as to say that they might now strike the fetters from my wrists; and having hitched up the pince-nez once more, proceeded to hand poor old Sippy one of the nastiest looks ever seen in Bosher Street Police Court.
'The case of the prisoner Leon Trotzky—which,' he said, giving Sippy the eye again, 'I am strongly inclined to think an assumed and fictitious name—is more serious. He has been convicted of a wanton and violent assault upon the police. The evidence of the officer has proved that the prisoner struck him in the abdomen, causing severe internal pain, and in other ways interfered with him in the execution of his duties. I am aware that on the night following the annual aquatic contest between the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge a certain licence is traditionally granted by the authorities, but aggravated acts of ruffianly hooliganism like that of the prisoner Trotzky cannot be overlooked or palliated. He will serve a sentence of thirty days in the Second Division without the option of a fine.'
'No, I say—here—hi—dash it all!' protested poor old Sippy.
'Silence!' bellowed the officious blighter.
'Next case,' said the beak. And that was that.