(“What a lark this is,” chuckled the Don, as he sat in the corner of the gallery peeping from behind the front row.)
“Did he see the watch taken?”
“He did, leastways I s’poase so.”
“And has never appeared as a witness?”
“How is that?” asks his lordship.
“He axed me, m’lud, not to say as ’ow he wur in it.”
Judge shakes his head. Counsel for the prisoner shakes his head at the jury, and the jury shake their heads at one another.
Now in the front row of the gallery sat five young men in the undress uniform of the hussars: they were Joe and his brother recruits come to hear the famous trial. At this moment Mr. Bumpkin in sheer despair lifted his eyes in the direction of the gallery and immediately caught sight of his old servant. He gave a nod of recognition as if he were the only friend left in the wide world of that Court of Justice.
“Never mind your friends in the gallery,” said Mr. Nimble; “I dare say you have plenty of them about; now attend to this question:”—Yes, and a nice question it was, considering the tone and manner with which it was asked. “At the moment when you were being robbed, as you say, did a young woman with a baby in her arms come up?”
The witness’s attention was again distracted, but this