“That’s clearly not evidence,” says the Lord Mayor, gravely. Whereupon there was another burst of laughter, in which the clerk seemed to take the lead. The remarkable fact, however, was, that his Lordship was perfectly at a loss to comprehend the joke. He was “as grave as a Judge.”
After the laughter had subsided, the learned Keepimstraight leaned backward, and the learned Lord Mayor leaned forward, and it seemed to me they were conversing together about the cause of the laughter; for suddenly a smile illuminated the rubicund face of the cheery Lord Mayor, and at last he had a laugh to himself—a solo, after the band had ceased. And then his Lordship spoke:
“What your watch may say is not evidence, because it has not been sworn.”
Then the band struck up again to a lively tune, his Lordship playing the first Fiddle; and the whole scene terminated in the most humorous and satisfactory manner for all parties—except, perhaps, the prisoner—who was duly committed for trial to the next sittings of the Central Criminal Court, which were to take place in a fortnight.
Mr. Bumpkin naturally asked for his watch, but that request was smilingly refused.
“Bin in our famly forty years,” exclaimed the prisoner.
“Will you be quiet?” said Mr. Nimble petulantly, for it was a foolish observation for the prisoner to make, inasmuch
as, if Mr. Bumpkin had been represented by professional skill, the remark would surely be met at the trial with abundant evidence to disprove it. Mr. Bumpkin at present, however, has no professional skill.
* * * * *
Here something disturbed me, and I awoke. While preparing to enjoy my pipe as was my custom in these intervals, my wife remarked: