CHAPTER IX

THE WRITER PLANS WICKED PLANS

Now it so happened that the Writer chanced to be quite as fond of jokes

as the Pleasant-Faced Lion, and the Writer contended, taking all the

circumstances into consideration, that an action for libel with the

Pleasant-Faced Lion involved in it would be an excellent great big

joke, to say nothing of a graceful retaliation upon the Pleasant-Faced

Lion himself for a few of the jokes which that Pleasant Animal had

played upon the Writer. Not to mention the fact that such a case

promised to supply the Writer with a little light recreation almost in

the nature of a holiday, after the labours of producing his last book.

Consequently, as soon as Sir Simon had left, the Writer selected his

favourite pipe, filled it with his choicest tobacco, and having lit it,

stretched himself at ease upon the most comfortable divan in his rooms,

and thought out subtle schemes.

There he lay laughing and chuckling for all the world like a wicked

Puck, bent upon mischief, joyfully and solely devised for a confusion

of his enemies, particularly Mr. Learnéd Bore.

Cheered and emboldened by such happy reflections, the Writer hit upon a

scheme haphazard which for sheer unscrupulous impudence would baffle

all description; gradually embroidering his machinations with that

whimsicality that had always served him so well as an author, until his

plans appeared to be complete.

"Very fortunate," murmured the Writer as he knocked out his pipe, "that

those kids told me all about the Pleasant-Faced Lion's party. Great

heavens, what a chance! and it will be worth a fifty-pound note to have

Lal brought into Court and to hear the Griffin's song sang in Court,

and sung it shall be, only I must alter the words to fit the occasion."

Here the Writer sat upon the edge of the table and rocked with

delighted laughter.

"Ha! ha! ha!" gurgled the Writer, "only one man in London who can set

it, and, by Jove, I'll ring him up on the 'phone at once; a few

judicious rehearsals--before Vellum and Crackles, the solicitors, are

communicated with--to say nothing of Gentle Gammon, and--ha! ha!

ha!--what a glorious joke. What's Billy Cracker's number in the book?"

A quarter of an hour afterwards, in answer to a most urgent summons by

telephone, Mr. William Cracker made his appearance in the Writer's

rooms.

Mr. William Cracker, called Billy by his friends, was rapidly rising to

fame as a writer of musical comedy--a tall, sleek personage, with

straw-coloured hair brilliantined very flat over his head, and

carefully parted in the centre, wearing a monocle in one eye, which

appeared to grow there, and was always lavishly adorned as an exact and

living replica of the latest fashion plate.

Billy greeted the Writer and stared at him through his eyeglass

quizzically.

"Whenever I hear you give that Mephistophelean chuckle at the end of

the 'phone," commented Billy, "I always know you have got some

particularly impish scheme on. Well, what is it?"

"Oh, Billy, Billy," chuckled the Writer, "I have indeed got a scheme,

and it is funnier, Billy, than any of your musical comedies."

"In that case," announced Billy, as he leisurely helped himself to a

smoke which the Writer offered, "I shall steal the plot."

"Listen, Billy. Could you write a tune, a refrain, an air, whatever

you call it, so catchy that people would hum it and sing it on the

spot? I want a perfectly irresistible tune, Billy."

"All my tunes are irresistible," confessed Billy modestly.

"Yes, but I want an absolute dead cert. The sort of thing you used to

write at Oxford before you took up music as a profession; you know, one

of those catchy things we all used to stand round and sing the instant

you played it."

"Of course," returned Billy equably, "it's my profession. I turn out

any amount of such things."

"Oh, yes; but, Billy, this has got to be a Comic Classic."

Billy considered for a space.

"Is it to be sung in a Comic Opera?" he asked.

"No, it's going to be sung in Court."

Billy stared through his eyeglass.

"You're joking!" he said.

"Of course I'm joking," retorted the Writer, "you only have to read the

words to gather that fact."

"Have you got the words?"

"Yes, here they are; but wait a minute, old chap, that isn't all, you

have got to coach a youngster I know to sing them."

"Oh, that's a very different matter," demurred Billy; "I don't teach,

and anyway it would be awful waste of time."

"I will pay you your own fee," grinned the Writer, as he fingered a

cheque-book, artlessly placed upon the top of a desk. "Nice fat

cheque, Billy, always useful."

Mr. Billy Cracker appeared instantly to succumb to this suggestion and

to take very kindly to it.

"Here are the words," said the Writer modestly, handing two half-sheets

of notepaper to his friend, "there is the grand piano, Billy, opened

already, a medium of expression only waiting for your musical genius."

"Let's see the words," said Billy.

Mr. Cracker perused the lines offered for his inspection with amazement.

"I say," he observed, "they seem awful rot."

The Writer laughed.

"Ah, Billy, that's only because you don't know the situation yet."

"True," assented Billy; "I've had worse given me to set in musical

comedies. Now let me see," murmured Mr. Cracker as he seated himself

at the pianoforte, "scansion is the great thing--scansion and rhythm."

Thereupon followed a curious procession of tum tiddle, tum tiddle, tum

tiddle, tiddle tums, varied by little tinkling outbursts upon the

pianoforte, which there could be no doubt that Mr. Billy Cracker played

astonishingly well.

"Easy or difficult to set?" inquired the Writer.

"Oh, child's play!"

"That's just what I want it for," remarked the Writer encouragingly,

"child's play, and the sort of tune a child would sing whilst he

played."

"Half a mo," murmured Billy, "I'm getting it fine--lum, lum, lum, lum,

lum, lum, lum, lum, lum. Ha! What do you think of this?"

Out rippled a delicious melody, harmonised with rich full chords this

time.

"That's it!" shouted the Writer excitedly. "Oh! lovely!! Billy,

you're a treasure. Oh! play it again!"

Mr. Billy Cracker obligingly consented.

The Writer was dancing round the room and singing at one and the same

time.

"Ripping! Billy, Ripping! Write it down at once!"

"Suppose you haven't got any music-paper in the place? No, I thought

not; never mind, I can soon manufacture some from this

manuscript-paper."

"No, not that," exclaimed the Writer hastily, "that's my new poem."

"Humph! Hope it's better than the one you have given me to set."

"Billy," exclaimed the Writer enthusiastically, "I am going to stand

you a tip-top lunch, and then I'm going to take you to Balham."

"Balham, good gracious! what on earth for?"

"You've got to give a music lesson in Balham after lunch, Billy, one

lesson will be enough with that tune. Why, it's in my head now, I

can't forget the thing."

"Isn't that exactly what you required?" asked Billy languidly, as he

wrote down notes.

* * * * *

Messrs. Vellum and Crackles, most concise and conservative of

solicitors, found themselves suffering for the first time in the

history of the firm from a fit of astonishment, not to mention dismay,

regarding the strange nature and unusual features of a case concerning

which their firm had recently received instructions.

The case was considered so unusual that a sort of hastily contrived

board meeting was deemed expedient, and was accordingly held in Mr.

Vellum's private room.

At the end of the meeting, Mr. Vellum gave instructions for the writing

of a letter to the Board of Works, for special permission to have one

of the Lions, which would be, hereinafter, especially pointed out and

specified, removed from Trafalgar Square to the Law Courts, as its

presence in Court was deemed indispensable in a case of a peculiar and

special nature.

"It is a very singular application," remarked Mr. Crackles thoughtfully.

"I hope the request will not bring ridicule upon the firm," rejoined

Mr. Vellum.

BOOK III

WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARD ABOUT

CHAPTER X

THE LION GOES TO COURT

There was a curious hush of expectancy one early autumn afternoon in

Court X., about to be presided over by Mr. Justice Chatty.

Outside in the streets London was suffering from partial darkness,

which is not infrequently the case, so a number of the lights in Court

had been lit, and although they burned a somewhat dull amber, the

lighting was sufficient to outline a truly remarkable scene.

Mr. Justice Chatty, the Judge, had not yet entered and taken his seat,

so that the expectant hush which had momentarily crept over the Court

was all the more remarkable by way of contrast to the series of rushes

which had gone before this state of calm.

Something approaching a small riot had taken place before the doors of

the Court had been opened. Crowds of curiosity-loving people, having

stationed themselves outside for hours, and who had even thoughtfully

provided themselves with sandwiches, now fought and kicked and

struggled in solid wedges to find a place, and even roundly abused the

police who controlled the doors when they were thrust away. The public

have an unfortunate habit of becoming abusive whenever "House Full" is

announced, after bravely enduring the probationary martyrdom of waiting

hours for one of their favoured entertainments to start.

The belief that the Judge was about to take his seat was found to be a

false alarm, so the hum and hubbub inside the Court recommenced with

renewed activity. The solicitors chattered at their table like

magpies. The leading barristers turned over their briefs and snapped

out replies to the other barristers with them, and fidgeted with their

gowns. Everybody glared at everybody else in the amber-lighted Court,

but however eagerly they talked, and wherever they looked, the eyes of

every one in Court always returned to stare in amazement and wondering

curiosity upon one object. In the body of the Court, looming out of

the dimness, the head fully illuminated, was the enormous statue of a

bronze lion upon its stone pedestal.

"Most extraordinary case in my recollection," drawled a junior

barrister to one of his fellows who was flattened beside him; "no

wonder there is no room in Court with that ridiculous thing stuck

there!"

"Who's for the defendant?"

"Dreadful, K.C., instructed by Brockett and Bracket."

"Umph! then I suppose there will be explosions and fireworks in Court:

it's usually so when Dreadful starts."

"Gentle Gammon, I see, for the plaintiff. Biggest spoofer on the Law

List, clever though."

Even after the Court appeared to be packed with that overlapping

economy which is a characteristic repose of preserved sardines, small

bodies of juniors, some with wigs, some without wigs, some in whole

gowns, some with their gowns in shreds, forced their way in from other

doors and other Courts. Some conspicuously held briefs borrowed for

the occasion, some did not even pretend to have any such thing.

The stalwart policeman who guarded this second door suddenly became

firm, and closed it with a mighty effort; that is to say, he all but

closed it, only was prevented by the foot and head of the last junior

hurrying in, who howled his agony aloud at having fallen into such a

trap.

"No, no, Mr. Towers," expostulated the tall constable, "can't you see

the Court is full and won't hold another one?"

"Lucas, let me in at once."

"I can't, sir, more than my position is worth."

"Then let me out," howled the suffering junior, "you're crushing my

foot and my neck."

The stalwart policeman lessened a fraction of his weight against the

door, and the imprisoned junior was allowed to scrape himself out as

gradually as his peculiar position would admit.

The one person who considered the presence of the Lion in Court to be

the most natural thing in the world was Ridgwell, who, standing beside

the Writer, peeped through the little glass panel let into the door

leading from a passage to one of the witnesses waiting-rooms.

"Is the Round Game going to commence?" Ridgwell asked the Writer

innocently.

The Writer admitted gravely that the Round Game was going to commence

with a vengeance.

"The ones who lose have to pay the forfeits, haven't they?" persisted

Ridgwell.

"Yes," agreed the Writer. "Exactly--ahem!--heavy forfeits."

"I hope Sir Simon wins then," observed Ridgwell.

"You see that man across there, Ridgwell," remarked the Writer, "big

fierce-looking man making ineffectual efforts to adjust his wig

becomingly over a pair of very big red ears, with two very big red

hands?"

"Yes," agreed Ridgwell.

"With the sort of expression upon his face that the first of the Three

Bears must have worn when he entered Silverlocks' kitchen and found the

bread-and-milk to be missing?"

"Yes," laughed Ridgwell, "I remember, 'Who stole my bread-and-milk?'"

"Well, that is the man who is going to try to make you and I and Sir

Simon pay the forfeits."

"How?" inquired Ridgwell.

"Well," suggested the Writer, "you know he will roar and shout and bang

the table with those red hands of his, and try to frighten everybody,

but the one thing to do is not to take the slightest notice of him. If

he annoys you, just smile; if he continues to annoy you, just glance

towards the Judge."

At this moment the voices of the ushers were heard shouting for silence

and order, and a profound stillness reigned inside the Court, for his

Lordship the Judge had entered through the doors leading to his room

and had taken his seat.

His scarlet robe only seemed to accentuate the colour of his puffy pink

cheeks, whilst the blackness of his little beady eyes and pointed nose

rather gave him the appearance of some overfed bird gorged to repletion

after a particularly satisfying meal, slightly apoplectic, with its

beak out of focus. The Judge, moreover, appeared to be afflicted with

a little wheezy asthmatical cough which attacked him at intervals as he

prepared to arrange his papers. The Clerk carefully placed a glass of

water upon the desk by his Lordship's side, but whether this was done

by way of a simple remedy for the Judge's wheezy little cough, or

merely as a gentle reminder that the case was likely to be a dry one,

cannot be guessed with any certainty. The preliminaries having been

arranged, the case having been called, the Ushers of the Court having

again shouted unnecessarily for silence, Sir Simon Gold having stared

at the Judge, and Mr. Learnéd Bore having stared at everybody, the

Judge having appeared to have closed his beady eyes in slumber, like a

broody hen upon a perch, Mr. Gentle Gammon rose and opened his case for

the plaintiff.

As Ridgwell observed in a whisper, "the Round Game had started." Mr.

Gentle Gammon opened his case in his proverbially gentle tones. It was

a silky voice, purring in its gentleness, but with a curious power of

penetrating every corner of the over-crowded Court; it insisted even

whilst it soothed, and its effect upon his Lordship the Judge seemed to

be most pleasing, as he immediately appeared to nod to it as if in

greeting. Mr. Gentle Gammon related to the Court how his client,

holding the highest Civic position in London, had been made the subject

of a virulent and unscrupulous newspaper attack by a man who, in

addition to writing plays which nobody professed to understand,

undoubtedly wrote articles that all fair-minded people unquestionably

deplored. This unprincipled person, Mr. Learnéd Bore by name, had seen

fit to attack no less a person than the Worshipful the Lord Mayor of

London, and that, moreover, during his Lordship's tenure of office,

believing that he, an unscrupulous journalist, could drag the Lord

Mayor down from his exalted position by means of a few clap-trap

phrases written for money, although he, the learned Counsel, marvelled

how any one could find it in their hearts to remunerate such a person

engaged in such a calling using such questionable language in such a

preposterous case.

He, the Most Worshipful the Lord Mayor, the observed of all observers

in the City as elsewhere, or in any assemblage he adorned with his

presence and ornamented with his personality, had been accused in an

offensive phrase of "imbibing too freely of the Devil's cup," the

Devil's cup in this instance signifying wine, the insidious inference

being that the Most Worshipful the Mayor was inebriated, and, moreover,

in public, and in Trafalgar Square of all places in London. The

Counsel paused dramatically, then a thrill of unutterable horror crept

into the hitherto purring voice of Mr. Gentle Gammon.

"That, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, is a foul calumny, an

insidious lie, uttered to drag down the exalted of the earth, and

bespatter the resplendent robes of Civic dignity with the spiteful mud

besprinkled from the nethermost garbaged recesses of the journalistic

gutter.

"During the still and beautiful night hours, when this travesty of an

accusation is brought, my client, the Most Worshipful, had wandered

into the holy star-lit night, clad in the flowing robes symbolical of

his exalted earthly estate, to place a wreath, a beautiful wreath, upon

one of the monuments of London he deemed the most dignified and fitting

to receive it. That monument, if they but lifted their eyes, they

would see in Court. A stately noble Lion, whose presence there had

necessitated the removal of four separate sets of folding doors leading

to the Court in order that it might be present. Could this noble beast

but speak," urged Mr. Gentle Gammon, K.C., "could it even roar, it

would speak its severest censures, would roar its loudest denunciations

at the libellous statement that the noble Civic head of London who

honoured it, could possibly have done so, could conceivably have

climbed to such a height upon its back, unless he had been eminently

sober, unfalteringly steady at the time when, clad in his robes in the

calm violet depth of night, he had placed his offering in happy

felicitation as a symbol and a greeting to his beloved City of London.

This should have excited only admiration; but seen through the prying

eyes of a prurient pressman, this touching tribute had been changed by

the vile alchemy of suspicion to an unseemly and ridiculous action of

midnight debauchery which could only have turned the noble Lion to

stone, had it not already been made of bronze.

"My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, this Lion stands for liberty, as do

all British Lions. I claim the liberty and full right of my client, if

he deems fit, to be able to decorate any statue of London whenever he

pleases, at any or every possible hour of the night that he chooses,

without the stupid and interfering intervention of a constable, or the

slanderous pen of a Mr. Learnéd Bore, having the power to make a

lovable and harmless action wear the appearance of a midnight frolic of

bibulous recklessness, which, had it taken place, would have been only

food and gossip for the senseless and shameful, and reflective regret

for the wise.

"My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, my client does not wish for big

damages, but he does demand strict justice. That is what he is here

for, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, that is what we are all here

for. If I were given to emotion, which I am glad to confess I am not,

my deepest and innermost emotions would be called forth by the picture

of his Lordship there before us, who holds the scales of Justice in his

hands, who can pierce the outer coverings of dissembling and falsehood

with the eagle eye of truth, who can right this hideous wrong, who can

smooth out the crooked paths of falsehood, making all plain. Let the

false traducer beware, I say, he is veritably between the Lion and the

Eagle. His Lordship in this case is the Eagle (metaphorically, of

course)," hastily added Counsel, upon noticing the extraordinary

likeness of his Lordship to a bird roosting, "and the Lion and the

Eagle shall each of them turn and between them rend the truth and

nothing but the truth from the lying carcase of calumny.

"Having now shown with impartiality, at the same time characterised

with reserve, that the condition ascribed to the Right Worshipful the

Lord Mayor was ridiculous, I will proceed to deal with the other

statement in this misjudged journalistic attack, that the Right

Worshipful was reviving Paganism in London, and in consequence

attracting a crowd. Far from the Right Worshipful either attracting

attention or causing a scene or obstruction in Trafalgar Square, I

shall prove indisputably that it was the Lion, and the Lion alone, that

caused the scene; the Lion also, who by a strange metamorphosis

occasioned a crowd to collect. We know from classical history that in

Babylon and Assyria bulls talked, we have heard of the oracle of

Delphi, and in Biblical history of animals who talked. I shall prove

by witnesses that this Lion has not only walked but talked as well."

Sensation in Court.

Here his Lordship the Judge appeared to show the first sign of interest

he had evinced in the case.

"My learned friend must be careful," cautioned the Judge. "If what he

states is true, the Lion may have to go into the witness-box."

Titters in Court. The Learned Judge smiles, rather pleased with his

own remark.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., at this point arose hastily; in fact, the learned

K.C. almost jumped.

"My Lord, I protest against such a line of argument, such a travesty

being introduced to mar the seriousness of this case."

His Lordship waved the learned and excited gentleman aside.

"I am the Judge here," observed his Lordship, "and in that sense I even

resemble Daniel with regard to his duties in a similar capacity, but I

fear I do not possess his special knowledge with regard to Lions."

Titters again in Court, in which the Learned Judge joins.

"However, I am always anxious to learn."

Renewed titters.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., seats himself hurriedly and grinds his teeth in

vexation, but finds time to whisper rapidly to a junior, who leaves the

Court hastily and mysteriously.

"Pray continue, Mr. Gammon."

"My Lord, I have little more to say."

"I am sorry for that," interposed the Judge; "you were beginning to

interest me more than I should have believed possible."

Mr. Gentle Gammon bowed ever so slightly, as if the Learned Judge had

crowned him with a compliment that he found too heavy for his head to

support, and proceeded--

"But, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, if I say little else with

regard to this case before you, which is permeated throughout by the

mythical mystery of a classical age, it is only that the witnesses I

shall produce to prove this strange thing may speak instead of myself.

Three witnesses in all, and one in particular. The one in particular,

since only truth can issue from the lips of infancy, I shall call

first. My Lord, I shall put a child, a little boy, into the witness

box that you may hear his simple story."

_Judge_. "Dear me, I hope he won't be frightened of the Lion."

(Titters in Court.)

_Mr. Gammon, K.C._ "On the contrary, my Lord, you will find he regards

it as an old friend; and, my Lord, when you have listened to what he

has to say, I think we may all realise 'that there are more things in

heaven and earth than are dreamt of in--er--philosophy.'"

_His Lordship_ (pleasantly). "I think I have heard that before."

_Mr. Gammon_ (courteously). "Your Lordship is much too well read to

have missed it." (Thereupon Mr. Gammon, K.C., sat down.)

_Judge_ (with a little snigger). "The only thing I am likely to miss

is how our _celestial_ knowledge is going to be especially advanced

this afternoon. However, the curious nature of the case as presented

possesses unlimited possibilities."

Ridgwell, having been called, walked with the utmost composure into

Court and took his place in the witness-box. He looked very tiny, but

very self-possessed, and smiled pleasantly at the Judge.

The Judge smiled pleasantly back at Ridgwell.

Mr. Gammon rose to the occasion and to his feet at one and the same

time. He permitted the pleasing impression that Ridgwell had

unconsciously created to have its full effect upon the Court, and upon

everybody present with the exception of Mr. Learnéd Bore, whose

countenance alone wore the disgusted and horrified expression that

might have been expected had a great green toad been introduced into

the witness-box. Mr. Learnéd Bore's countenance afforded a strange

study of nausea struggling against outraged dignity.

"Now, Ridgwell, do you see any one in Court that you know?"

"Yes. Lal."

"And will you tell us who Lal is?" purred Mr. Gammon.

"Yes, Lal is the Pleasant-Faced Lion. There he is," said Ridgwell.

"How do you know his name is Lal?" inquired Counsel winningly.

"He told me so himself, it is short for Lionel. Lionel is his proper

name."

"And when did this Lion Lal first speak to you?"

"Some weeks ago. The night I got lost in the fog."

This was altogether too much for Mr. Dreadful, K.C.

"My Lord," shouted that gentleman, as he bounded to his feet, "my Lord,

I take this opportunity of protesting that the witness is not the only

one who complains of being lost in the fog. I myself, my Lud, am

completely lost owing to the same cause."

"In that case," said the Judge, testily, "always keep quite still, and

you will in time find out where you are."

Titters in Court.

"My Lord," roared Counsel for the defendant, "I protest!"

The Judge interposing. "My learned friend, there is only one thing

present in this Court that has a right to roar, and it is noticeable

what a good example he sets you by refraining from doing so."

(Amusement in Court.) "Kindly sit down. The little boy is giving his

evidence very well indeed."

"Am I to take this witness's evidence down, my Lord?" inquired the

Judge's Clerk in a whisper.

"Certainly, certainly," replied the Judge. "If a Hans Christian

Andersen comes into Court, or sends a deputy, the evidence must be

taken down, the same as anybody else's."

"And now, Ridgwell," said Mr. Gentle Gammon, in his gentlest tones,

"will you please tell us in your own way all that befell you when you

became acquainted with the Pleasant-Faced Lion."

For a considerable time the Learned Judge folded his claw-like thumbs

and listened, and the Court sat amazed and stupefied whilst Ridgwell

told of all the adventures that had befallen him after his acquaintance

with Lal.

First came the tournament, then his first ride home to Balham on the

Lion's back.

"Rather a long way, little man, eh?" suggested the Judge, affably. "He

could never have been away so far from Trafalgar Square before. How

did he find his way?"

"Oh, he followed the tram-lines," said Ridgwell.

Titters in Court.

"Good indeed, a most admirable witness this," observed his Lordship.

Then followed a simple but glowing description of the Pleasant-Faced

Lion's wonderful evening party.

"Dear me," again observed his Lordship, "you had Royalty present, too!"

"Yes," said Ridgwell. "King Richard, King Charles, Queen Boadicea; and

Oliver Cromwell came in and shouted 'Ho!' at King Richard and 'Ha, ha!'

at King Charles. Then the Griffin ordered Oliver Cromwell out, and

Christine thanked him."

"Very extraordinary and interesting," observed his Lordship; "and who

is Christine?"

"She is my little sister."

"I have her deposition here, my Lord," broke in Counsel for plaintiff,

"bearing out her brother's statements."

When Ridgwell came to a description of the Griffin, his sayings,

doings, his woes and his character generally, the entire Court rocked

with amusement which nobody made any effort to subdue.

"And now," said Counsel, who had watched everything up to this point

with the cunning eye of a fox, "and now, little man, will you kindly

sing as well as you can the song you say the Griffin sang at the party

before the Lion?"

At this point Mr. Learnéd Bore, with his hands covering his ears, sank

his head upon the solicitor's table at which he sat. If there was one

thing Mr. Learnéd Bore hated more than children, it was music, in any

shape or form, and when they both came together Mr. Learnéd Bore shared

all the unpleasant feelings from which Mephistopheles was supposed to

have suffered whenever he heard church bells. In a beautifully clear

childish voice Ridgwell sang the merry song in the merriest way

imaginable.

"Of a merry, merry King I will relate,

Who owned much silver, gold and plate,"

commenced Ridgwell triumphantly, in a quite wonderful rendering of the

Griffin's favourite ballad. The tune was haunting, the swing of the

air irresistible. The entire Court became slowly infected with the

seductive gaiety of the song. The Juniors began to move their feet,

the solicitors began to wave their quill pens to it. The Usher of the

Court nodded his head, and his Lordship the Judge was so carried away

by the melody that he unconsciously beat time gently by wagging one

finger, whilst he smiled around upon the Court; and so in a burst of

pleasing song Ridgwell continued--

"Yet one thing the merry, merry King forgot,

That it would be his Griffin's lot

To be very, very cold or very, very hot--"

"High up in Fleet Street," sang the entire Court.

"So slowly the faithful creature got

Chilblains in Fleet Street."

"Chilblains in Fleet Street," yelled all the Juniors in chorus. On

went Ridgwell without a breath--

"The Griffin grew prettier day by day,

Directing the traffic along each way,

With always a pleasant word to say,"

"High up in Fleet Street," burst from the Court, who knew the phrase

quite as well as the refrain by this time, and could not have sung it

better if they had practised it.

"One trouble alone caused him dismay,"

"Chilblains in Fleet Street," came the chorus, which drowned Ridgwell's

last notes entirely.

Frantic applause in Court, which the Judge instantly suppressed.

"If," said his Lordship, forgetful of the fact that he himself had

helped in the scene by beating time, "if I have any more of this

disgraceful disturbance in Court I shall give orders for it to be

instantly cleared."

"Thank you, that will do. You can step down now, Ridgwell," said Mr.

Gentle Gammon.

"And very well sung," observed his Lordship, as Ridgwell departed.

The next witnesses were called, Cissie Laurie and John Bowling.

"Are you sure you have those names correctly?" asked the Judge.

"Yes, my Lord; why?"

_The Judge_ (facetiously). "It has been an afternoon of ballads; we

have just heard one very well sung, and it seems to me that the

collection would not be complete without _Annie_ Laurie and _Tom_

Bowling." (Much laughter in Court, in which the Learned Judge joins in

a high-pitched alto.)

John Bowling admitted that he behaved most oddly, but he did so because

the Lion seemed to be behaving strangely. Said he thought the Lion's

eyes had gone green; believing that they were real emeralds, he had

tried to cut them out with his knife.

_Judge_. "What! tried to gouge out the Pleasant-Faced Lion's eyes?"

(Laughter in Court.)

The Sailor admitted it with contrition.

_The Judge_. "Such a gentle creature, too! Lal, the Children's

friend." (Much laughter in Court.)

_His Lordship_. "Had _you_ been to the party?" (Renewed laughter.)

_Sailor_. "No, my Lord, not his, another." (More laughter.)

Counsel here asked witness to relate what exactly happened upon the

evening in question.

_Sailor_. "Well, yer see, governor, I can't say, 'cos I can't remember

much about it; yer see, I was tuppence on the can, so to speak."

_Judge_ (interrupting). "I don't understand that expression; is it a

term used in the Navy? What does he mean by 'Tuppence on the can'?"

_Sailor_. "Well, in other words, I was blind, your Worship, I mean

your Lordship." (Titters in Court.)

Counsel hastened to explain that Mr. Bowling wished to convey the

unfortunate fact that he was intoxicated.

_Sailor_. "You've caught it, governor!"

Counsel was here heard to murmur words to the effect that he was

thankful to say he had not caught it.

_Witness_ (continuing unabashed). "Yer see, the reason as I was like I

was, I 'ad snatched five dog's-noses right off."

_Judge_ (plaintively to Counsel). "What does he mean by saying he

snatched five dog's-noses? Why, was he possessed with a mania for

mutilating animals?"

_Counsel_ (explaining). "No, my Lord, the dog's-noses the witness

refers to is a form of alcoholic stimulant--ahem!--gin, I believe, with

some other ingredient, such as ale, mixed with it."

_His Lordship_. "Oh, very well."

Counsel. "Did the witness consider the Lord Mayor of London was sober?"

_Sailor_. "Do you mean that there old cove in the red gown?"

_Judge_ (excitedly, and in needless alarm). "Of whom is he speaking?"

_Counsel_ (hastening to explain). "The Lord Mayor, my Lord. I asked

the witness did he consider the Lord Mayor sober upon the night they

met."

_Witness_. "Yes, he was sober enough, but I think he was balmy, and I

shall always think he was balmy."

_Counsel_. "Thank you, that is sufficient; you can stand down."

Cissie Laurie, upon being called, went skittishly into the witness box,

curtseyed to the Court, and blew a kiss to the Judge.

His Lordship glared at the lady in shocked amazement.

Upon being questioned, Mrs. Laurie confided that most of her early life

had been passed playing in Pantomimes, therefore she had always been

fond of dancing. At the present time she kept a lodging-house for

theatricals, and the only chance she had of indulging in her old and

favourite pastime seemed to be to dance attendance upon these lodgers.

"Never mind what you do indoors," suggested Counsel. "I want to know

what you do out of doors, what you did out of doors on the particular

night in question when you met the Lord Mayor of London."

"Well, I felt young and girlish," confessed Cissie. "The first floor

back and the second floor front had both gone out, and the house seemed

dull with no lights and nobody in it."

"Never mind about the house or the lighting of it," interrupted

Counsel. "You went out for a walk in the streets of London."

"When I got to Trafalgar Square," continued Cissie, "I felt skittish,

thoughtless and jolly, and I could 'ave declared he laughed at me and

then winked."

_Judge_ (interrupting). "The witness tells her story very badly. Who

laughed and winked at her? The Lord Mayor?"

_Counsel_ (hastily). "No, no, my Lord, not the Lord Mayor; the Lion."

_Judge_. "Oh, well, why doesn't she say so?"

Then proceeded Cissie, heedless of all interruptions--

"I sees the wreath round his neck, and I at once thought of the Russian

dancers----"

_Judge_. "Tut, tut, tut! what has the fact of the Lord Mayor of London

having a wreath round his neck to do with the Russian ballet?"

_Counsel_ (in despair). "Not the Lord Mayor, my Lord; the Lion."

_Judge_ (testily). "Then will the witness please say the word Lion

whenever she wishes to refer to the Lion?"

_Cissy_ (imperturbably). "I don't want to refer to it no more, 'cos I

collared the wreath, and 'olding it over my 'ead I danced round the

Square, just like the posters of them Russian dancers."

_His Lordship_ (irritably). "Which particular poster was she desirous

of realising?"

_Counsel_. "My Lord, I think it must be the one of a slim and classic

youth dancing the Bacchanal with a wreath uplifted over his head."

_His Lordship_ (looking at Cissie's ample form completely filling the

witness-box, murmurs), "No, I cannot see the picture at all."

_Counsel_. "Nor I, my Lord, believe me."

Then volunteered Cissie, "He gave me two sovereigns."

_Judge_. "What, the Lion? does he give money as well as parties?"

_Counsel_ (desperately). "Not the Lion this time, my Lord, but the

Lord Mayor. Did you consider that the Lord Mayor was sober when he

gave you this money?"

_Cissie_. "Lor bless yer, yes, as sober as his Honour there the

blessed Judge himself."

_Judge_ (with complexion rapidly changing from pink to crimson). "Do

not refer to me again in such a way. It is most improper."

_Cissie_ (obligingly). "Very well, my dear."

_Judge_ (very annoyed). "Do not address me as my dear, do not address

me at all, direct your remarks to Counsel, please."

_Cissie_ (tossing her head). "Wot o'! now we shan't be long."

_Counsel_ (soothingly). "No, Mrs. Laurie, as you observe, we shall not

be long now. Will you kindly tell me where you met the Lord Mayor,

previous to your meeting with him in Trafalgar Square?"

_Cissie_. "Yes, I first met him in a Pantomime."

_Counsel_. "In a Pantomime; very good."

_Cissie_. "Yus, I was playing Principal Boy, dressed in a green velvet

jacket, green ostrich plumes in my 'air, and a pink pair of silk

tights. Oh, you should just 'ave seen the pink silk tights, bran new

ones."

_Counsel_ (hastily). "Thank you, that is sufficient; a detailed

description of the costume you wore is immaterial to the case."

_Cissie_. "Oh, is it? then I don't see the object of my being dragged

'ere if I ain't to describe my costume."

_Counsel_. "That will do, thank you, Mrs. Laurie; stand down."

_Cissie_. "Dragging me all the way 'ere, when the lodgers ain't got

their dinners yet; fish to fry for the first floor, and the second back

wanting macaroni with their stew, because they're I'talians."

_Counsel_. "That's enough, Mrs. Laurie."

_Cissie_ (still talking as she prepares to depart). "Oh, is it enough,

Mister Grey-Wig? Well, I call it a darned sight too much." (Cissie

here being persuaded out by an usher of the Court). "So the next time

you wants me to leave my work in the middle of the day you can fish for

me, same as the lodgers will 'ave to fish for their darned dinner this

blessed----" (door of the Court closes upon Cissie, rendering further

remarks inaudible).

_Judge_. "A most garrulous woman."

Here Mr. Dreadful, K.C., rose with an evil smile of triumph, that is to

say, it was a cross between a legal smile and a snarl.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C.'s utterances rather suggested the muffled

discharging of pom-poms. Whenever he opened his mouth it was succeeded

by an explosion of words, then a whistle by way of taking breath,

another explosion succeeded by more whistles. Mr. Dreadful announced

that before placing his client in the witness-box, he would state that

all his client, the defendant's, written words were true in substance

and in fact.

"The Lord Mayor of London had wandered out into the night, so had his

client, Mr. Learnéd Bore. This gentleman, a playwright, journalist and

writer, had wandered forth in order, no doubt, to get inspiration. The

source of any such inspiration as he might have derived from the calm

night had been utterly destroyed by the ridiculous antics of the Lord

Mayor of London; inspiration had vanished, giving place instantly to a

righteous feeling of strong condemnation that so beautiful a thing

should have been so ruthlessly crushed. Fancies had fled, driven from

their abiding-place by stern facts. Those facts had been embodied in a

glowing article, destined to be distributed through the medium of the

daily paper which his client adorned by contributions from his pen."

"If the Lord Mayor of London objected to the ridicule which his

client's able article had heaped upon him--it was entirely the fault of

the Lord Mayor. Any sober person, such as his client, must have

instinctively supposed the Lord Mayor to be inebriated, when he was

actually discovered arrayed in his state robes, coaxing the statue of a

Lion to speak to him. Any Christian person, after observing this high

Civic official place a wreath about this effigy, would unquestionably

have believed him to be a Pagan, and a very ignorant one at that.

Finding it hopeless to either excuse or explain such conduct, the

plaintiff in this action, which ought never to have been brought, that

is if the plaintiff had been wise, had actually, with an impudent

audacity unparalleled in any Court of Law, urged that this lifeless

Lion not only talked, but made signs. I shall not cross-examine one

single witness who has appeared up to the present in this case, they

have sufficiently condemned themselves already."

"The last lady, with a wealth of unnecessary words and adjectives, had

informed the Court that she was once in a Pantomime, and it is my firm

impression that is exactly where all the other witnesses in this case

ought to be, especially the child who had unblushingly told them a long

fairy story, and had attempted to sing them a song. A Pantomime was

the proper place for them all, a fitting setting, and especially

suitable for the Lord Mayor himself, robes and all. There, amidst the

medley of such an entertainment, the Lord Mayor could coax Lions to do

tricks, the sailor could indulge in his hornpipes and quaff

dog's-noses. The child could act fairy stories, and sing all by

himself, whilst the vociferating lady, who owned to a weakness for

dancing indecorous solos, would be able to delight her heart by

performing the Russian Carnival----"

_Judge_ (prompting). "Bacchanal."

"They would all be most suitable in a Pantomime, but not in a Court of

Law."

"The one amazing thing which had horrified him inexpressibly during the

case was the fact that his learned brother Counsel, Mr. Gentle Gammon,

had so far forgotten his professional dignity as to declare that this

Lion actually moved and spoke at times. He feared, and also he

lamented, that his learned brother must be approaching his dotage. Yet

in order to satisfy each and every one in Court, he, Mr. Dreadful, had

sent an urgent and special messenger for a first-class veterinary

surgeon, having the letters M.R.C.V.S. after his name, and also for one

of the keepers belonging to the lions' house in the Zoological Gardens.

Their evidence would now be taken."

Upon the appearance of the M.R.C.V.S. in the witness-box the Learned

Judge saw fit to interfere.

_Judge_. "Have you ever attended a lion professionally?"

_M.R.C.V.S._ "Never, your Lordship."

_Judge_ (sagaciously). "Then what do you know about them?"

_M.R.C.V.S._ "I have attended other animals, your Lordship."

_Judge_. "Very likely, very likely, but a live ass is a different

thing to a dead lion." (Laughter in Court.)

_Counsel_ (for the Defendant). "_Better_ than a dead lion, your

Lordship." (More laughter.)

_Judge_. "Not in this case." (Loud laughter.) "The learned Counsel

for the Defence need not waste the time of the Court in hearing the

opinion of either Veterinary Surgeons or experts from the Zoo. What

the Learned Counsel ought to do is to produce Pygmalion." (Titters in

Court.)

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., rising to protest. "My Lud, Pygmalion is a

mythical personage, and your Ludship knows he is of a necessity

shrouded in silence."

_His Lordship_. "So is the Lion." (Laughter in Court.)

_Mr. Dreadful_ (still exploding and still protesting). "My Lud, I do

venture to suggest that this Lion should somehow be thoroughly

examined."

_His Lordship_. "Well, it is in Court, better try for yourself. I

only hope your efforts will be as successful as Little Ridgwell's and

his sister Christine, to say nothing of the Lord Mayor of London."

_Mr. Dreadful_. "My Lud, I cannot treat with these people, it is like

dealing with the worshippers of Baal."

_His Lordship_. "Well, I really cannot sanction digging a trench and

lighting fires all round it here in my court, to make it speak." (Loud

laughter.)

After the laughter had somewhat subsided a slight stir was occasioned

in Court by the appearance in the witness-box of Mr. Learnéd Bore.

In reply to many questions from Mr. Dreadful, K.C., Mr. Learnéd Bore

stated all the incidents in Trafalgar Square which he had witnessed,

and which had given rise to the present action.

Cross-examined by Mr. Gentle Gammon--

"You are a famous playwright, Mr. Learnéd Bore," commenced Counsel.

"I am a playwright."

"Do you write to instruct or to amuse?"

"It is possible to combine both."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Yes, this afternoon's experience in Court."

"Wonderful as that may have been, Mr. Bore, I suggest you have not

written it."

_His Lordship_ (facetiously). "Give him a chance, he may." (Laughter

in Court.)

"Of course," suggested Counsel, "you always enjoy reading your own

articles in the papers."

"Oh dear no. I am only concerned with writing them."

"But I suggest you read them before you send them in."

"Never; the Editor saves me the trouble."

"Your articles have a ready acceptance, I take it."

"Always."

"The Editor is so desirous of obtaining your work, I suppose he is

willing to pay a big price for it even before it is written."

"Yes, and before it is read."

"Indeed, so there must be a time when nobody knows what your articles

are about, including yourself, as you never read them." Counsel

continuing. "I presume you never contribute any articles during the

time of the year known as the Silly Season?"

"On the contrary, my first effort in that direction has resulted in the

bringing of the present action."

"You considered the Silly Season had started then, upon the night you

met the Lord Mayor?"

"The Silly Season started then, has continued since, and appears to be

at its height here this afternoon."

(Sweetly.) "Then you can congratulate yourself upon being thoroughly in

the fashion. Now tell me, Mr. Bore, in your opinion, should we take

the statues of London seriously?"

"No, in my opinion we should take them all down."

"All? Oh, surely not. Now, as an instance, let us go down the Strand."

_His Lordship_ (interrupting). "No, no, no, I believe the correct

quotation is, 'Let's all go down the Strand.'" (Loud laughter.)

_Counsel_. "I have never heard the quotation, my lord."

_His Lordship_ (pleasantly). "What! I should have thought that

everybody had heard that, the difficulty is not to hear it. I have

even heard it set to music." (Loud laughter.)

"Now, Mr. Bore," continued Counsel, when order had once more been

restored. "Has it never struck you that some of the statues of London

might, for example, sometimes come to life?"

"Never. I cannot imagine anything less like life, than any of the

statues of London."

"Surely the one in Court to-day is a good specimen?"

"If it is a specimen it ought to be in its proper place--in a case."

_Counsel_ (gently). "It is in a case."

"And I object to it being in this case."

"Sculpture is evidently not your strong point."

"Neither are ridiculous fairy tales!"

"You wish us to believe that you, a writer, are only capable of dealing

with facts."

"I have not encountered any facts in this case at all yet, and I

utterly fail to understand what anybody here can mean by facts after

this afternoon's exhibition."

_Judge_ (annoyed). "Tut, tut! Facts are facts: this is a Court of

Justice: I am the Judge; would you, for instance, regard me, _me_ as a

fact?"

_Mr. Learnéd Bore_. "No, as a figure-head."

His Lordship shrieks in his highest falsetto--

"Remove this witness at once, he is flippant. Order him to stand down,

or I shall commit him for contempt."

Sensation in Court. Mr. Learnéd Bore leaves the witness-box,

hurriedly, and looking slightly scared.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., wishing to cover up the _faux pas_ as quickly as

possible, rises and announces in explosive tones--

"Call the Writer."

The Writer entered the witness-box; inclined his head slightly to the

Judge, smiled in the direction of the Lord Mayor, and was immediately

bombarded explosively by Mr. Dreadful, K.C., whose pom-pom-like shells

whistling overhead seemed totally unable to disturb the Writer's serene

calm.

"Now, sir, are you not the author of the song, the ballad, the bosh,

whatever you like to call it, that we have all been compelled to listen

to in Court this afternoon?"

"Yes and No."

"Don't prevaricate, sir; which is it, yes or no?"

"Both."

"I warn you, sir, I warn you; what do you mean by both?"

"What I say."

"Then kindly say what you mean, sir; you must mean one or the other if

you mean anything; you cannot mean both."

"I rearranged the song you refer to only from hearsay."

"Oh, indeed, sir, pray who is the original author?"

"The Griffin."

"Kindly stop talking nonsense, sir; it is bad enough to have to suffer

it from an over-imaginative child, from a grown-up person it is

intolerable. Do you suppose we are going to have the Griffin brought

into Court in addition to the Lion?"

"I hope so."

"Indeed, indeed, sir, why do you hope so?"

"Well, judging from the Griffin's characteristics we have heard so well

described this afternoon, he must be feeling green with envy that he

has not received a summons here."

"You are pleased to joke, sir, and you are attempting to be elusive,

but you will not slip through the fine meshes of evidence woven by the

law in that way. Kindly examine that paper!"

Small piece of dirty paper passed to witness--

Witness smiles.

"Is that your handwriting, sir?"

"Certainly."

"And the composition of the words are yours?"

"No, only touched up from the Griffin's original."

Mr. Dreadful, bellowing, stamping, and banging his hand upon table all

at one and the same time--

"The wretched Griffin is left entirely out of this case, sir."

"It is a thousand pities; he would have enjoyed it so."

"My Lord, I will venture to read this fragment mercifully dropped in

Court by the child confederate of this slippery witness: it is headed

_Chorus_, my lord; it doubtless forms a last part to the ridiculous

song we all listened to in pained surprise. I contend, my Lord, that

this fragment which has come into my possession is seditious;

seditious, my Lord."

"Well, well, let us hear it," his Lordship adding hastily: "No, no,

don't sing it, read it."

"My Lord, your injunction to me is unnecessary; indeed, my Lord, I lack

all training enabling me to sing, I am thankful to say, but what is

more to the point, my Lord, I almost lack the necessary self-control to

read these seditious words unmoved by indignation. However, my Lord, I

will make an effort." Counsel reads: "'Oh, my poor tender feet.'"

(Titters in Court.)

_His Lordship_. "Well, well, that is harmless enough, the Griffin

complained of that, you remember."

_Counsel_. "My Lord, I know nothing of the Griffin, and care less

whether he complained or what he complained of, but, my Lord, it is I

who complain, and rightly so, when the majesty of the law of England is

mocked at. Listen, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to the following

lines, and their harmful wickedness--

"Of what use are England's laws

Unless they protect my claws,

And keep me warm in the street?

What snuffy old Judge in Court,

Ever gives my poor feet a thought;

Ever thinks of the snows and frosts,

Or adds up my bill of costs?"

(Titters in Court from the juniors.)

"There, my Lord," thundered Counsel, "can any one hear this iniquitous

document unmoved, these wantonly wicked lines mocking alike at Law and

Order, even at your Lordship's own almost sacred calling."

_His Lordship_. "A highly offensive and seditious document; impound

it, Mr. Dreadful, and continue your examination of witnesses, please;

time goes on."

"Now, sir," exploded Mr. Dreadful, "the Court, having with shame

listened to your ribald effusion, I will ask you what you had to drink

upon the night you and the Lord Mayor were found wandering under

extraordinary circumstances in Trafalgar Square?"

"To drink--I personally? Nothing."

"What did you have in the house, sir, at the time?"

"Oh, the usual things."

"Don't equivocate, sir; how does the Court know what you may consider

usual in your ill-regulated household. What did the Lord Mayor partake

of during the period he was in your company, in your rooms, before

going out to chase a lady who was under the impression she was a

Russian dancer--round Trafalgar Square, and before proceeding to play

bo-peep with one of the lions, placed in that Square to ornament

it,--what, I ask, sir, did the Lord Mayor partake of by way of

refreshment?"

"Oh, two tiny glasses of Crème-de-Menthe."

_Counsel_ (triumphantly). "I knew it; at last, my Lord, we have the

mystery explained. The mystery of the Lion's green eyes, the

strangeness of the Lord Mayor's attitude, the strangeness of his

speech, his dress, all due, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to

Crème-de-Menthe! My Lord, that one phrase explains this whole mystery,

and with it I finish my statement of this case, my Lord, finish it with

those three, deadly, green, significant words--Crème-de-Menthe."

Whereupon, to everybody's relief, the pompom explosions of Mr. Dreadful

ceased. The last shell had been fired, followed by the usual whistles,

and he sat down.

The silky tones of Mr. Gentle Gammon came as a positive relief as he

re-examined and asked gently--

"Have you got the particular bottle of Crème-de-Menthe in Court?"

The Writer said he had brought it.

The bottle was fetched promptly.

"My Lord," observed Mr. Gentle Gammon, "I do not think the amount taken

could possibly have had any effect upon anybody. Your Lordship

observes that the bottle is nearly full, and the bottle produced is the

identical vessel used upon the evening in question. Was any other sort

of refreshment partaken of that evening in your chambers?"

"None whatever."

"One more question before you go. Of course this ballad, rearranged,

as you say, from the original by you, was written without any thought

of giving offence?"

"It was never intended to be published at all."

"Never intended to be read in Court, of course?"

"_Never_, in the way it was read."

"Thank you, that is enough," whereupon the Writer vanished gracefully

from the witness-box.

After this period in the proceedings, if the Learned Judge slumbered

only fitfully during Mr. Dreadful's final peroration, it might have

been owing to the spasmodic explosions of that Counsel's voice; but

there could be no doubt that the Learned Judge slept peacefully during

the earlier portions of Mr. Gentle Gammon's final effort upon behalf of

his client.

The Learned Judge had, however, a curious habit of hearing particular

things in his sleep, which, like the highly intelligent house-dog,

might have been either the result of long training or a naturally keen

possession of the intuitive faculty. His Lordship found frequent

occasion, therefore, to arouse himself in order to interpolate remarks

during the latter half of Mr. Gentle Gammon's closing speech.

"Who are these sceptics?" demanded Mr. Gammon, "these disbelievers?"

After all they had heard that afternoon, might they not verily be

approaching that blissful period when the Lion should lie down with the

Lamb?...

_His Lordship_ (opening one eye). "But it seems, according to

evidence, that the Lion didn't always lie down; it stood up and gave a

party."

Counsel proceeds: he had not quite finished the beautiful and

well-known simile; here Counsel paused before continuing in a voice

mellowed by winning tenderness--

"And the little child shall lead them."

_Judge_ (again interrupting). "No, no, the Lion, according to

evidence, distinctly led the children, even took them to Balham, we

gather, in the direction of the tram-lines."

_Counsel_. "Your Lordship is pleased to interrupt my remarks."

_Judge_. "No, no, not pleased at all; quite the contrary."

_Counsel_. "I am sorry to have encountered your Lordship's

displeasure."

_His Lordship_ (irritably). "You have not encountered anything yet,

save an inability to deal with the evidence, as evidence."

_Counsel_. "But, my Lord------"

_His Lordship_. "Hush, do not contradict me. Please continue; I shall

not interrupt again."

_Counsel_. "I thank your Lordship for that assurance."

_His Lordship_. "Please do not thank me, and do not provoke me."

_Counsel_ (proceeds, slightly ruffled). He would take another case of

Biblical history; it was without question an ass who had upon a certain

occasion been the one to see when a Lion had stood in his path. Here

the case was unhappily reversed; it was only the asses who couldn't see

the Lion, as he ought to be seen in this case.

_His Lordship_. "No, I cannot see that."

_Counsel_. "Your Lordship only makes my remarks more pointed than I

actually intended."

_His Lordship_. "Please do not set cheap traps or you may one day get

caught in them yourself."

_Counsel_ (gallantly). "In that case, I can only hope that your

Lordship may be there to extricate me by the nimbleness of your wit."

_His Lordship_ (beaming round upon the Court, and especially upon

Counsel). "Very pleasant, very clever; your speech interests me very

much; pray continue!"

_Learned Counsel_ (continuing). "Shakespeare, our best guide,

philosopher, poet, thinker, and prophet, had fitly and most

appropriately even foretold this very matter with regard to the Lion;

maybe had prophesied it, when he told us there were sermons in stone

and good in everything."

_Judge_ (awakening, after dozing). "Good gracious! I always

understood it was bronze."

_Counsel_. "Ahem! Yes, my Lord, that is to say stone pedestal, bronze

beast."

_His Lordship_. "Very well, but when you quote for a purpose always

quote with exact correctness."

_Counsel_ (proceeds). "Did not the creature his Lordship had referred

to as the great Pyg--Pyg--Pyg-----"

_His Lordship_ (prompting). "No, no, not a pig, a Lion."

_Counsel_ (bows, and with a supreme effort of memory recollects the

word Pygmalion). "Had not the great Pygmalion so created Galatea that

she verily became endowed with life, and may we not suppose that the

genius of Sir Edwin Landseer, or whoever carved this wondrous lifelike

Lion, might not also have endowed it with some such strange new form of

existence? Was it reasonable to suppose that what had happened to

Beauty might not also happen to the Beast? Take the simple exquisite

statement of this child, this little boy Ridgwell, confirmed by his

sister."

_Judge_ (prompting). "No, no, you can only be actually confirmed by a

Bishop."

_Counsel_. "I spoke of another confirmation, my Lord."

_His Lordship_. "Well, the issue, the issue, what does it show?"

_Counsel_. "My Lord, I will explain at some length carefully."

His Lordship immediately relapses into another short but placid slumber.

_Counsel_. "This child Ridgwell, with the imagination worthy of

Christian in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, states simply, and you have

heard for yourselves how beautifully, that the Lion walked and talked

with him; and as I have used the touching illustration of the Pilgrim's

Progress, with which you are all familiar, I say this child is not

alone in his belief that the Lion came to life. There are others to

testify, others to write of it, among them a well-known Writer and

Poet. This Lion has not been left without a Bunyan."

_His Lordship_ (waking almost with a start). "No, no! ridiculous; you

are mixing matters. All the Lion had was a swelling in the foot caused

by a thorn--I know the fable well."

_Counsel_. "My Lord, believe me, I spoke of a different matter."

_His Lordship_. "Well, you must not really wander from the point, it

makes it almost impossible for me to follow you, and if I cannot follow

you I don't know where you will be."

_Counsel_ (glibly). "I trust it is I who will always follow your

Lordship, and be led, as it were, by your Lordship."

_His Lordship_ (obviously highly pleased). "Very true, and very aptly

expressed. Pray do not let me interrupt you."

_Counsel_ (bowing). "Your Lordship's remarks are in themselves a

Commentary, and worthy of all preservation."

_His Lordship_ (almost playfully). "Exceedingly apt. But I must

refuse to be prejudiced by your clever advocacy."

_Counsel_. "And now we come to the touching and beautiful story of the

Lord Mayor of London, the Right Worshipful" (with a rising inflexion of

admiration in his voice), "who, after many years, had been knighted

like Dick Whittington."

_His Lordship_. "What has Dick Whittington and his Cat to do with the

present Lord Mayor of London and the Lion?"

_Counsel_. "Nothing, my Lord, save that----"

_His Lordship_. "Then please omit it; we have had enough of the fairy

tale element in this trial without the introduction of any fresh fairy

stories or nursery rhymes whatever."

_Counsel_ (continues blandly, as if unconscious of interruption). "The

Right Worshipful knew, and had always known, that one Lion was

different to the others. One only, the one present in Court, was

intelligent, a companion; the other three were _deaf_."

The Learned Counsel hoped the Gentlemen of the Jury "would not resemble

those other three Lions by being deaf, deaf to the cause of justice,

deaf to the interests of his client the Right Worshipful, deaf to those

promptings of illuminating intelligence which had been especially

vouchsafed to them as Jurymen, deaf to their duties as citizens in a

strange world where there were to be found things even stranger than

themselves." Thereupon the Learned Counsel sat down.

The Jury were asked if they wished to put any questions before His

Lordship summed up.

One juryman, rising, wished to know where Trafalgar Square was, as he

had never seen it.

Consternation in Court.

_His Lordship_. "Good gracious, where do you live?"

Juryman was understood to say he had lived all his life upon the

borders of Clapham Common. Questioned further with regard to this

extraordinary admission, confessed he had never seen any of the Lions

until he met the one in Court. Knew the Griffin well, as he had waited

beside it during the four different days he had been obliged to come to

town for the first time in his life. Had waited from an early hour

each morning for several days until his name was called, when the

different Jury lists were made up. Obliged to wait so many days on

account of the names being taken alphabetically on the List, his

beginning with Y, his name being Yobb.

After this brief interlude his Lordship appeared to rouse himself up

and proceeded to sum up at one and the same time. His Lordship

commenced by observing that the case before them that day was without

exception the most extraordinary case that had ever come before him

since he had presided as a judge. The Learned Judge considered that

the child Ridgwell was exempt from--er--er--any deliberate desire to

pervert facts. This boy claimed that he had become the recipient of

some High Order of Imagination. He, the Learned Judge, had not the

remotest idea what this order meant, and he firmly believed nobody else

in Court had the faintest conception either concerning such a

possession. However, children would be children, which was

unfortunate, as he himself considered that children should be always,

ahem! grown up, yes, or nearly always. That is to say, as often as was

possible.

But the defendant, Mr. Learnéd Bore, had not even got the plea of

childishness to excuse some of the very reprehensible, if not flippant,

statements he had dared to make in the witness-box.

As a writer, the Learned Judge had always been led to believe that Mr.

Learnéd Bore was quite intelligent; as a witness, the Learned Judge

considered him deplorable. That a Lord Mayor of London, of London,

perhaps the most beautiful and dignified city in the world, with a few

architectural exceptions which the Learned Judge deplored,

but--ahem!--allowed; that the Lord Mayor of this City with the

glittering chains of that High Office still weighing down his neck, yet

wearing his crimson robes, which the Learned Judge hoped blushed for

him, as indeed his, the Learned Judge's own robes did, which he was at

that moment wearing. That this Lord Mayor should utter the still more

crimson falsehoods and fabrication of fairy folk, was well-nigh

inconceivable.

The Learned Judge could only suppose such a state of Civic imbecility

was due to the decadence of the times in which they had the misfortune

to live. It was the first indication that the downfall of London, like

that of Rome, and--er--other cities he could not at the moment

recall--was at hand.

It showed, in the Learned Judge's opinion, that the Navy should at once

be strengthened, the Board Schools increased, and the Asylums for all

those who were mentally afflicted, and therefore so unlike themselves,

should immediately be enlarged throughout the country, in order to cope

with the extra call upon them that such a state of things as they had

listened to that day might necessitate.

Furthermore, the Learned Judge remembered with gratitude the many

petitions to the Royal Family, who, he was thankful to note, were never

afflicted or influenced by any imagination whatsoever; therefore he

begged that those petitions might be increased fourfold

for--for--reasons which at that moment he found it impossible to

explain.

He furthermore would remember with gratitude, and would increase if

possible, the numbers of institutions for the blind, not to mention the

deaf. During this action they had listened in very truth, and not

unmoved, to people who had been blind. (Here a faint titter being

heard in Court, the Learned Judge added reprovingly--)

He did not intend his last remark as a joke, having regard to the

evidence one man had given. No, it was no matter upon which to joke.

The blind were there before them, and he had used the expression the

deaf, inasmuch that some of those before him had heard too much.

To hear too much was worse than not hearing enough. One of the Jury at

this critical point, as if speaking upon impulse: "Hear! hear!"

His Lordship paused in passionate surprise; indignantly wondering

whether or not the Gentleman of the Jury, whose face appeared to be

covered with purposeless pimples, had really intended his last remark

to be ambiguous.

Upon feeling himself reassured upon this point, the Learned Judge

remarked: "Any more unseemly interruptions of this nature, and I shall

clear the Court, not--ahem!--personally, but--er--vicariously, so to

speak. Where was I?" (consulting notes). "Yes, at the House of

Commons. The House of Commons, whose common sense as a body have

helped to make the--ahem!--Irish and the English as one."

Where was the House of Commons now? He was thankful to say, where it

had always been.

Would any one of the Members of that House believe that Oliver

Cromwell, who had stood so long outside, had condescended to alight

from his pedestal to shout vulgar abuse and brawling words at King

Richard and King Charles, such as "Ha! ha!" and "Ho!"? He trusted not,

he believed not; but if, indeed, such a thing could be possible, he

trusted that Oliver Cromwell, if he could by special Providence be now

actually alive, would verily with laughter say, "Ha! ha!" and even "Ho!

ho!" to the ridiculous statements they had heard that day. In face of

the many indignities offered to them he was thankful to note, since it

was admitted in evidence, that King Richard, and especially King

Charles, had kept their heads. He, the Learned Judge, again expressed

a hope that no one would interpret his last remark as being facetious.

Nothing was at that moment further from his thoughts. To joke in a

Court of Law, or even attempt to joke beneath the emblazoned sign of

the Lion and Unicorn somewhere above his head, would be to mock that

noble animal (he referred to the Lion, of course), whose other effigy

in Court formed such a striking contrast to the undignified attitude of

those who had preferred such fanciful charges against this nobly

statured beast, whose presence there among them, as Counsel had

observed, was only rendered possible by the separate removal of _five_

pairs of folding doors.

"Little imagination was required to realise that the stony stare of

this noble animal must, Medusa-like, have become even more stony from

horror and abhorrence at the eccentric things it could not hear,

uttered concerning himself, I mean itself, that day.

"Now, Gentlemen of the Jury, you know what I have been talking about?"

The face of each and every Juryman a complete blank save one, who

murmurs as if in his sleep, "No! no!"

"I therefore charge you, consider only that which is right, punish

those, if any, who should be punished, spare the simple, if any, who

should be spared. Commend any, if there are any such, for their

intelligence in reporting a matter which they, like myself, are utterly

unable to understand. If none in this affair should be reproved, then

I charge you hereafter keep silent.

"Learn a lesson from the statue of the Lion in Court, who has remained

silent throughout, and whose wisdom in this respect I cannot too much

commend, whilst heartily wishing its example could have been followed

by every one in Court with the exception of myself.

"By the many witnesses in general, but by one in particular; I refer to

Mr. Learnéd Bore. Gentlemen, you need no other words of mine to make

you do your duty.

"Words will never make people do their duty. Therefore, in having

spared you much, I can only feel that I have helped you little.

Gentlemen of the Jury, the matter having got thoroughly into your

heads, is now in your hands. I therefore leave it there."

Here the Learned Judge ceased speaking. The Learned Judge having

refreshed himself after this amazing forensic effort with a draught

from the glass of water beside him, which, during the proceedings, had

become lukewarm, gathered his robes about him and hopped through the

folding doors at the back of him, into his private room.

The Jury, looking like men suddenly out of work, repaired in a body to

their room, and once again the overcrowded and overheated Court gave

itself over to the buzz and hum of conversation, freely interspersed

with endless speculations as to what sort of verdict could possibly be

returned in such an amazing case.

The Right Worshipful warmly thanked his Counsel, Mr. Gentle Gammon, for

the brilliant efforts that gentleman had made upon his behalf, whilst

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., glared unspeakable things in the direction of the

Plaintiff and Plaintiff's Counsel alternately, for the entire case had

filled Mr. Dreadful, K.C., with feelings of revolt.

Juniors not engaged on the case made whispered and sporting bets among

themselves as to who would get the verdict. The amber light

illuminating the Court continued to gleam upon the Pleasant-Faced Lion,

unquestionably the most reposeful thing inside the building, although

the primary cause of all the disturbance.

"Of course," observed Ridgwell to the Writer, "we shall know now who

has won the game."

The Writer agreed.

"Will the old gentleman in the red robe call out the forfeits then?"

"Rather," replied the Writer, "and I fancy, myself, the heaviest

forfeit will be the one which includes bringing Lal into Court; it must

have really cost a very considerable sum. Hullo, they are all coming

back," broke off the Writer, "all the Jury, looking as if they have

lost their way, which I believe, myself, they have, during the entire

case. There, they are summoning his Lordship. Now for it."

Upon his Lordship resuming his seat, the foreman of the Jury delivered

himself thus, upon behalf of himself and his other eleven brethren.

"The Jury had all tasted and partaken of the Crème-de-Menthe" (bottle

produced and the contents seen to be very considerably diminished),

"and they found that the Right Worshipful the Lord Mayor of London

could not have been suffering from any form of intoxication in the

ordinary acceptance of the word, but that the Lord Mayor might have

been temporarily intoxicated with a sense of his own greatness. That

the noble Statue of the British Lion was regarded by the Lord Mayor

merely as a symbol of the whole British Empire, and was emblematical of

his own power under that Empire. Consequently no blame whatever could

be attached to him.

"They further found that Mr. Learnéd Bore had forthwith unquestionably

uttered a libel against the Lord Mayor which might have been a gross

libel, had it not been merely a stupid assertion published in a

newspaper, and not therefore to be taken seriously.

"They found that Mr. Learnéd Bore's evidence was flippant, and left

much to be desired; they wished accordingly to severely censure that

gentleman.

"Damages, therefore, in the case, although slight, would be given to

his Worship the Lord Mayor, together with all costs of the action.

"With regard to the Writer and Poet, they, the Jury, wished to severely

condemn all the works he had written, or _partly_ written, since he had

produced, or partly composed, one wholly seditious ballad, attempting

to make fun of the Laws of England, whereupon they expressed an earnest

hope that all his works might in future be banned."

His Lordship, after partaking of a final sip of the lukewarm water

still beside him, then delivered his verdict.

"His Lordship entirely agreed that the Lord Mayor of London had been

quite blameless throughout this case, the Lord Mayor's devotion to the

British Lion as a symbol, was the most touching feature in the case; he

would therefore have damages against Mr. Learnéd Bore, and Mr. Learnéd

Bore would have to bear the entire costs of the Action.

"The damages in this Case would not be the unsatisfactory damages

sometimes assessed at one farthing, nor would they be one shilling, or

even half-a-crown. The damages he, the Learned Judge, awarded would be

a sum sufficient to purchase a bottle of Crème-de-Menthe, and that of

the very best (sensation in Court), to be given to his Worshipful the

Lord Mayor in order to show that the fluid which had figured so

conspicuously in this Case, although it might do some people harm,

could only do good in the case of his Worshipful the Lord Mayor, since,

to use Counsel's borrowed, but apt phrase, this liquid had only made it

possible for the Lord Mayor to see sermons in bronze and stone, and

good in everything; good even in the effigy of the Pleasant-Faced Lion,

who had been brought into Court for the first time in its life, and

who, could it have the power of hearing, must surely approve of the

verdict now given."

The Learned Judge, having thus delivered himself, then rose, and once

more hopped out of Court.

The sensation throughout the entire Court was profound.

* * * * *

Some considerable time after the Writer had hurried Ridgwell from the

scene, and had provided a quite sumptuous tea, which both of them stood

in need of, in a tea-shop in Fleet Street, they repaired upon the way

home, and passed the statue of the Griffin.

"Look," whispered Ridgwell, as he pulled the sleeve of the Writer's

coat to attract the Writer's attention. "Oh, look, the Griffin has

been weeping bitterly."

It was, indeed, only too true. The Griffin's cup of sorrow and

mortification was full. Four great indignant tears trembled upon his

cheeks ready to fall. He had been compelled that day to stand and

listen to people humming his, the Griffin's, own, pet song as they left

the Court, and the Griffin had not been able to join in it.

The Pleasant-Faced Lion had gone into the Court and had left it in

triumph, cheered by enthusiastic and interested crowds, whilst _he_,

the Griffin, had remained unnoticed. The Griffin's feet were very,

very cold, and his vain, foolish, excitement-loving heart had turned to

stone.

Having contemplated this sad spectacle, the Writer and Ridgwell

clambered upon the outside of a bus going westward. Half-way up the

Strand the road was partly blocked by a concourse of cheering people.

As their bus came alongside, Ridgwell and the Writer both stood up to

look over the bus rail to see what was causing all the commotion. It

was the Pleasant-Faced Lion being escorted back to Trafalgar Square in

state upon a lorry. The crowd cheered enthusiastically upon viewing

the unusual sight.

As the Writer and Ridgwell gazed at their old friend, the

Pleasant-Faced Lion slowly, solemnly, and deliberately winked his right

eye, which was nearest to them.

* * * * *

The Father and Mother of Ridgwell and Christine, upon returning from a

most enjoyable holiday upon the Continent, could not avoid seeing the

large headlines of the evening papers pasted everywhere upon the

station boards at Charing Cross.

The headlines were varied; some of them read, "Comic Opera Scene in

Court." "Amusing Case before Mr. Justice Chatty." "Ridgwell Makes all

London Laugh."

"Very uncommon name," observed the Father of Ridgwell, as he bought

some papers. Later on, in the railway carriage upon the way home, the

Father of Ridgwell first read his paper, and then promptly wiped his

eyeglasses, to assure himself that he was not dreaming.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed that worthy but astonished gentleman, "why,

it's _our_ Ridgwell!"

"What is our Ridgwell?" inquired the Mother of that hopeful.

"Our Ridgwell has been into Court, before a Judge," faltered his

perplexed Father; "has sung a song, which seems to have been a great

success. Positively gave evidence that one of the lions in Trafalgar

Square was alive, and a great friend of his, and that the animal has

occasionally given him a free ride home on his back to Balham; did you

ever hear of such a thing?"

The Mother of Ridgwell hastily perused the papers recording these

strange statements, whilst the Father of Ridgwell leaned back in the

railway carriage, endeavouring to recover his breath, and collect his

startled faculties both together.

The Mother of Ridgwell read the part describing her offspring's

performance to the end, and then observed--

"Did you see, Father, that Ridgwell declares he possessed a high Order

of Imagination, and then lost it?"

The Father of Ridgwell groaned.

"Lost it? Good gracious me, what nonsense, my dear; I should think

myself he has just found it. I'll talk to that Writer, when I see him;

he really oughtn't to be allowed about at large, any more than the

Pleasant-Faced Lion. I consider the whole history of this animal most

incredible."

CHAPTER XI

THE END OF THE MATTER

The family had just sat down to breakfast when the Writer arrived at

Balham in a taxi-cab, bearing two large cardboard dress-boxes with him.

Having deposited these articles, he was greeted by the family.

"Oh! you bad man," commenced the Mother of Ridgwell and Christine; "sit

down and have breakfast at once before you start any more of those

plausible tales of yours."

"How did you get here so early?" inquired Father.

"Took a taxi, but it wasn't half such fun as riding down here on a

Lion's back!"

Ridgwell leaned one side of his head down upon the table and laughed,

and Christine glanced round shyly.

"A fine sort of commotion you and Ridgwell have caused," protested

Father; "listen to this paragraph out of this morning's paper."

The Writer actually appeared to enjoy eating his breakfast unabashed,

whilst Father proceeded to read.

"'The amusing action which took place yesterday in Court X---- has been

the cause of unprecedented scenes in London. Thousands of children,

both boys and girls, throng Trafalgar Square in order to see if the

Pleasant-Faced Lion intends to speak, or give another children's party.

"'Hundreds of children congregate every minute round the Griffin's

statue, waiting for it to sing, and have to be moved on good-naturedly

but firmly by the police.'"

"A nice state of things," commented Father, during a pause in the

reading.

"'There can be no doubt whatever that the extraordinary story of Lal

has interested all London, and everybody is laughing at the idea.

"'Sir Simon Gold, the Lord Mayor of London, with the usual

thoughtfulness that always distinguishes him, has resolved that the

London children shall not be disappointed with regard to a party. Sir

Simon has therefore taken the four biggest public halls, in the four

quarters of London, north, south, east, and west, and all the children

of London in each district will be entertained upon behalf of the

Pleasant-Faced Lion by the Lord Mayor to a delightful evening party the

same evening that the Lord Mayor gives his usual children's party at

the Mansion House.'"

"I can add something to that piece of news," observed the Writer, as he

continued eating his breakfast happily, and totally unconscious,

seemingly, of his many misdoings. "In those two big cardboard boxes

are two costumes; they are presents from Mum, one for Ridgwell, and the

other for Christine. Oh, no!--not to be opened until after breakfast.

Now, upon the night of the parties an event is going to take place that

will please everybody. The Lord Mayor wants both Ridgwell and

Christine to tell the story of Lal at each party after the dancing. It

will be the event of the evening, and will be illustrated on the

cinematograph."

"Oh!" echoed Ridgwell and Christine, "what fun!"

"All very fine for all of you," protested Father, "but I have to go to

town to-day on business, and if I cannot get past Fleet Street or the

Griffin on account of all the children round it, what am I to do, and

how am I to get along with my work?"

Christine and Ridgwell sidled up, one upon either side of Father's

chair.

"Don't you know you ought to be very pleased?" they said.

"Why?" inquired Father.

"Because the Griffin is happy at last, he is being noticed."

The Writer laughed: the Writer was really a most unscrupulous person as

to the source from which he derived amusement.

"It is a very incredible tale," remarked Father, severely.

"_Most_ incredible," confessed Mother, with a smile.

THE END