I spoke with absolute gravity. To my astonishment there was a titter which grew into a roar of laughter; even his Lordship found it difficult to control his cachinnation.
"Yes," said the counsel, when he had partially recovered his gravity. "But, tell me, do you know any custom in connection with their dismissal?"
Again I considered the matter for a few seconds, and made a second reply.
"No; I am unaware of any special custom in connection with their dismissal."
This time there was no titter. My answer was received at once with the wildest merriment. The Judge laughed as much as anyone, and the Usher had to wipe his head with his handkerchief, so greatly moved was he by his sense of the ridiculous.
My Counsel sat down convulsed, and had to conceal his face behind his brief.
"I really don't think," gasped out the judge, "that this witness need be cross-examined."
And I was not. As I returned to my seat amidst the smiles of everyone in Court, a reporter asked me for my Christian name. Before I could reply, one of my colleagues in wig and gown gave him what he supposed was the necessary information.
"But you are wrong," I whispered, and (with a view of crushing him) handed him my card.
"You don't say so," returned my learned friend; "why, we thought you were Panto,—the chap you know, who writes as 'Yorick' for the Serio-Comic Jester."