J. F. Why, my lord?
Arch. Because of the extreme paucity of the audience.
J. F. Were there a thousand persons present?
Arch. (severely). I must ask you not to jest with me in the sacredly respectable precincts of a Court of Justice. To the best of my remembrance, there were present at the commencement of your discourse but three persons exclusive of yourself. That fact is impressed on my mind from the rude and coarse words which you said when you mounted your stool or rostrum to the friend who accompanied you and had under his arm a bundle of a very reprehensible and ribald print called the Commonweal, one of which he, I may say, forced me to purchase.
J. F. Well, what did I say?
Arch. You said, “I say, Bill! damned hard lines to have to speak to a lamp-post, a kid, and an old buffer”—by the latter vulgarity indicating myself, as I understand.
J. F. Yes, my lord, so it is. Now let me ask you, if that matters, is Beadon Road a thronged thoroughfare?
Arch. On the contrary; at least on the morning on which I was there, there was a kind of Sabbath rest about it, scarcely broken by the harangue of yourself, sir.
J. F. You heard what I said, my lord?
Arch. I did, and was much shocked at it.