Something approaching a small riot had taken place before the doors of the Court had been opened. Crowds of curiosity-loving people, having stationed themselves outside for hours, and who had even thoughtfully provided themselves with sandwiches, now fought and kicked and struggled in solid wedges to find a place, and even roundly abused the police who controlled the doors when they were thrust away. The public have an unfortunate habit of becoming abusive whenever "House Full" is announced, after bravely enduring the probationary martyrdom of waiting hours for one of their favoured entertainments to start.
The belief that the Judge was about to take his seat was found to be a false alarm, so the hum and hubbub inside the Court recommenced with renewed activity. The solicitors chattered at their table like magpies. The leading barristers turned over their briefs and snapped out replies to the other barristers with them, and fidgeted with their gowns. Everybody glared at everybody else in the amber-lighted Court, but however eagerly they talked, and wherever they looked, the eyes of every one in Court always returned to stare in amazement and wondering curiosity upon one object. In the body of the Court, looming out of the dimness, the head fully illuminated, was the enormous statue of a bronze lion upon its stone pedestal.
"Most extraordinary case in my recollection," drawled a junior barrister to one of his fellows who was flattened beside him; "no wonder there is no room in Court with that ridiculous thing stuck there!"
"Who's for the defendant?"
"Dreadful, K.C., instructed by Brockett and Bracket."
"Umph! then I suppose there will be explosions and fireworks in Court: it's usually so when Dreadful starts."
"Gentle Gammon, I see, for the plaintiff. Biggest spoofer on the Law
List, clever though."
Even after the Court appeared to be packed with that overlapping economy which is a characteristic repose of preserved sardines, small bodies of juniors, some with wigs, some without wigs, some in whole gowns, some with their gowns in shreds, forced their way in from other doors and other Courts. Some conspicuously held briefs borrowed for the occasion, some did not even pretend to have any such thing.
The stalwart policeman who guarded this second door suddenly became firm, and closed it with a mighty effort; that is to say, he all but closed it, only was prevented by the foot and head of the last junior hurrying in, who howled his agony aloud at having fallen into such a trap.
"No, no, Mr. Towers," expostulated the tall constable, "can't you see the Court is full and won't hold another one?"