Persons in the Drama (so far).
Mr. Augustus Jones. Recorder. Born in [a]1873.]
Mr. Joseph K. Blaythwayte. Clerk of the Court. Born in 1850.
Absalom Adkins, of uncertain age, supposed boot-fancier.
Our Lord the King, whose peace, crown and dignity are reported to have been rudely disturbed by the alleged activities of Absalom Adkins.
Who is this strong silent man, this robed counsellor trusted with the case of the Crown? Who is it? It is I! Born in the year—but if I'm to tell my life story it's a thousand pounds I want. Make it guineas and I will include portraits of self and relations, with place of birth, inset.
The scenario (or do we mean the scene?) is now complete. Leading characters, minor characters, chorus, supernumeraries and I myself are all on the stage. Absalom Adkins, clad in a loose-fitting corduroy lounge suit and his neck encased in a whitish kerchief, rises from his seat. Mr. Jones, the Recorder, does much as he was doing before—nothing in particular. Counsel for the prosecution re-reads his brief, underlines the significant points, forgets that his pencil is a blue one and licks it. On a side-table, impervious to their surroundings and apparently unconcerned with their significance, sit the crucial boots.
"How say you, Absalom Adkins"—such the concluding words of the Clerk, the finish of the prologue which rings up the curtain on this human drama—"how say you? Are you guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty," says Absalom, and that ends it.
Later a large and enthusiastic crowd outside (had there been one) might have seen a man with clean and sharp-cut features carrying a bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other, stepping lightly on to a Bilbury corporation tram, station bound. This is the counsel for the prosecution (still me), his grave responsibilities honourably discharged, hurrying back to the vortex of metropolitan life.
F. O. L.
