“What’s the use of asking him that,” said Henry the Eighth, “when everybody knows, eh?”
John here began to explain that he had arranged the matter in Magna Charta, whereupon the judge exclaimed—
“Oh, gracious! if we’re to have that up every two minutes I’ll adjourn the court! Now, you there!” said he to me; “why don’t you answer?”
I tried in dumb show to explain that I was not aware what I was being tried for; but as no one saw the point of my answer, I tremblingly pleaded “Not guilty.”
“Oh,” said Henry, growing very red in the face, “all right! Now, somebody, let’s have the indictment!”
To my horror, I suddenly saw reflected on a screen, in large characters, at the far end of the room, my recent examination paper, with all my answers appended thereto! As I staggered back in terror, Henry laughed.
“Too late now,” said he; “you’ve said ‘Not guilty’, so you’ve got to be tried—got to be tried. Eh, what? Now start away; begin at the top. What’s that he says about Alfred the Great? Where is Alf, by the way?”
“Oh,” said Edward the Third, “he can’t come. The fact is, they’ve taken him and dressed him up as a French General, and he’s so awfully busy, he says, you’d better let his part of the thing slide.”
“All serene!” replied Henry. “Lucky job for you, prisoner. I know what a rage he’d be in over that toast-and-muffin story you’ve been telling about him. He’d have done you brown, my boy, I can promise you! Never mind. Now let’s go on to the next. Read it out, Nigger.”
Edward the Black Prince, who answered to this genial pet name, accordingly read—