“How long after the service began?” asked Coventry.
“It was during Venaite,” he replied.
“I don’t want to know anything about the Venite,” said Coventry, who hadn’t an idea of its liturgical position. “What I want to know is was it ten minutes after the service began, or when?”
“It was during Venaite.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that,” said Coventry, putting down his pen in despair. The verger thought the word Venite was puzzling the learned judge, and with great friendliness and a pleased smile of superiority turned round and said to him, “I’ll tell yer about Venaite. It’s like what you an’ me if we were talking to ourselves ’ud say: ‘O coom, let’s sing to the Loord.’”
Crompton Hutton, a very learned man of a curious, cantankerous character, held sway over the Bolton and Bury district. He had had a large practice in London as a junior, and though his methods were irregular they did not lack common sense. He never wore robes, and I was told it was an offence to appear in his court in robes. The first time I went before him was at Bury, where he sat in a club-room adjoining the court. I was very frightened, and he glared at me in a way that did not make me less
nervous. I and the solicitor against me, Mr. Anderton, sat on each side of him at a long table with the fire opposite the judge. I found out afterwards that if you could get one of your opponent’s witnesses to stand between Crompton Hutton and the fire he was dismissed the room, and his evidence was never heard. I did not know these and other rules of the court then. The judge pointed to a seat, and I sat down.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Parry,” I replied.
“What does he say his name is, Mr. Anderton?” he asked my opponent, turning his back on me.