“I do,” replied the witness with a faint smile.
“This is no joking matter, sir. Attend to me. I think you and I were shooting on your moor on that day.”
“We were.”
“What on earth has this got to do with the case, Mr. Aitken?” asked the learned judge, putting down his pen.
“Your Honour will see in a moment that it is most material,” replied Aitken unabashed. “Now, sir, remember you are on your oath, and answer me this question without prevarication. Whose bird was it?”
“Well, really——” began the solicitor.
“Whose bird was it, sir?” shouted Aitken.
“Well, I believe it was yours, Mr. Aitken.”
“Ha!” cried Aitken, triumphantly, and, bowing to the learned judge, who was shaking with laughter, he added, with impressive humility, “I trust that, looking to the satisfactory nature of the witness’s admission, your Honour will not think I was wasting the time of the Court in insisting on the strict proof of the document.”
And I suppose it is Louis Aitken who reminds me of the Northern Circuit, and I never think of the circuit without remembering one of the best friends of all of us, still happily of our number, McCall, K.C.—and he reminds me of the eminent butcher. There may be some who have not heard the story of “The Irishman and the Dishonest Backer.” It is worth relating, I think, as an example of the strange attitude of mind existing in the unrighteous about the administration of the law.