And that reminds me—quite naturally, for A. L. was a sportsman—and it was a story of the moors he told me that reminded me of this story which I once told him—that reminds me of the story of “The Solicitor and the Ambiguous Grouse.” It is really Louis Aitken’s story. Would that he were with us to claim it; but it enables me as a humble story-teller to take off my hat to him and his story as I hand it on to others.
We had gone up to a remote County Court among
the Yorkshire moors to thrash out a small building dispute. The solicitor who instructed me was an old friend of Aitken, and they had often shot together here and elsewhere. During the conduct of the case it became necessary for me to prove a certain document the writer of which was not present.
“I have no doubt my friend will admit this,” I said.
“Not a bit of it,” said Aitken, looking very firm. “I shall want it proved strictly.”
I leaned over to talk to my solicitor about the impasse, when Aitken continued in a bullying tone, “There is no difficulty in proving the document. Your solicitor can prove it, you know,” and then with great emphasis, “if he dares to go into the box—if he dares to go into the box!”
“Really, Mr. Aitken,” said the judge deprecatingly.
“I have my reasons, your Honour—I have my reasons,” replied Aitken, shaking his head solemnly.
By this time the solicitor was in the box and had taken the oath and shortly proved the document, and Aitken arose with a great show of serious emotion to cross-examine the witness.
“Do you remember the 24th of August, 1889?” he asked.