The Judge. Our scale of commissions is surely generous enough! By the new Rules of Court which I have made, a bonus of £500 is offered to any merchant who swears, on affidavit, that he was about to resort to arbitration but decided to come here instead. Then I think the plan of giving his head clerk one year's rent of his dwelling and a free fortnight at Yarmouth for himself and his family, as a reward for influencing his principal to resort to us, was rather adroit—eh, Mr. Redbagge?
Mr. Redbagge, Q.C. Excellent! And the boxes of chocolate to his door-keeper, and free tickets to the music-halls for other subordinate members of his establishment, ought to have brought a plethora of business to this court.
The Judge. Quite so. Not to mention the fact that we pay counsel's and solicitor's fees out of public funds, instead of looking to the litigants themselves to provide them. If that isn't cheap justice, I should be glad to know what is.
Mr. Redbagge (deferentially). And the mercantile classes must surely be aware that no Judge on the Bench has a greater knowledge of the law than your ludship.
The Judge (ignoring the flattery). Unfortunately the mercantile classes seem also to have a knowledge of the law, and not to like what they know of it. So they resort to the ruinous—I repeat, the thoroughly ruinous—practice of arbitration.
Mr. Redbagge. It is really a serious state of things, m'lud—for us, not for your ludship. "Those who live to plead, must plead to live"—and it's a little difficult to plead when—(breaking down)—there are no clients.
The Judge (soothingly). We must think of some other plan of attracting them, I suppose. How would it be if, instead of troubling them to come here, the Court offered to go to their offices and sit there? Or perhaps a few baronetcies scattered about among them might have the desired effect. Well (rising) as there are no cases on our list, and no prospect of any, the Court is forced to adjourn!
[Does so.