Where have you been all the night, my pretty one?
At the O.P. Club, dear mother.
Make my bed soon,
For F. E. was there, and I fain would lie down.”
“Indeed,” he continued, “I am devoted to simple old songs of all kinds—‘Weel May the Dail Row,’ for instance, and ‘Solly in Our Alley.’”
“And now,” I ventured to say, “... I was instructed to ask you for a Christmas message to the public.”
“If you will write something of the necessary degree of sickliness, I’ve no objection to signing it,” he replied. “Or wait.... It happens that I have to deliver a judgment in the House this afternoon, in the case of a curious old man named Klaus against the Attorney-General for detinue, wrongful imprisonment, and a declaration of nationality. He has been excluded from the country under some of the numerous regulations of the Defence of the Realm Act, and his sack, which appears to contain an astonishing miscellany of objects, has been confiscated by the Customs authorities.... Would that serve your purpose? It will figure in the next edition of my judgments.”
“If I might hear it, perhaps....”
“Certainly.” He drew a formidable case-book from the shelf behind him, adjusted a pair of horn spectacles, and read as follows:
“In this case your lordships have been moved to set aside a decision by the Court of Appeal, affirming the decision of the King’s Bench, whereby the Attorney-General, the Sheriff, and the Justices of Lower Mudhaven were upheld in refusing admission into this country to the appellant, S. Klaus, a person of indubitable ex-enemy origin, but widely esteemed in this country, who carries on an old-established business in many parts of the world.