Mr. Withersq was already digging at the last of his second egg with
rather a cross face, as he really preferred duck’s eggs as being more
sustaining, when she entered their private eating apartment at whose
door stood a chef sent to watch over their food by the hotel manager.
“Hello dearie” cried he rising and casting the gloom off his face, as
he had learnt to rise for ladys by now. “We have a treat in store for
to-day.” And he nodded to the chef to bring Selia her breakfast, which
the good man with his white hat did and then retired out of the room.
“Oh Harold what is it?” she cried settling her new brown gown, “is it
a better kind of party?”
“Well hardly” said Mr. Withersq resuming his egg, “it is to go to a
trial.”
“Oh! How delishus” said Selia in glee, “is it a murder?”
“No” said Mr. Withersq, “it is much better, it is a divorce, murders
being a little vulgar. But the very cream go to divorces, and were it
not for my having this morning before you rose purchaced a good half
of the _Daily Pull_ and put the editor in my pocket I do not think
even we should have got in.”
“Oh so now you have a newspaper” chirped his love.
“Yes” said Mr. Withersq hortily “and as it is we have seats in the
front.”
Truly pleased by this thoughtful and lucky idea Selia fell to and
despatched her food after which they stepped into a taxi and rode to
the law court.
It was a dark forboding place somewhat square. A crowd of poor jostled
without. The photos of Selia and her Harold were taken as they left
the taxi to enter, at which Selia bridled a little but not her Harold.
For a flash he feared they were mistaken for the guilty partys but it
was not so only his fame.
Inside was a great dark hall like church and the ten comandments in
frames at the top, between which sat a juge in scarlet and ermin with
a white wig, who was on a carved chair, with lawyers on one side in a
row and jurys on the other in a pew and the lawyers were all lean and
busy with papers, but the jurys were all plump and did nothing but
sit.
A stir occurred as our heroes entered and were led by a beadel to the
front row at which the judge beat his little hammer on the desk of his
throne and cried “Ordre” very stern for all present were twisting and
craning to get a better view of our pair, more so the ladys of whom
there were many with lunsheon baskets seated around.
“This is not a school of poetry,” said the judge aside and drew a
laugh, so Mr. Withersq knew at once this must be the famous Judge Crop
the well-known wit. So they both sat down and settled.
The buss died down and silence came as a door at the side opened and
amid a murmur of pity the partys to the divorce were led in,
pale-faced and dismally clanking the handcuffs on their wrists, and
the injured husband led the way. There were three in all, the lady and
the villian with meek look following after, and the lady was very
soberly dressed in black coat and skirt as befitted her position.
A policeman led them to stand in a row before the Judge, and they all
three stood mum while the lawyers began to rise one by one and muter
and muter and rasple their papers, and bow now and then to the Judge
who seemed to sleep nevertheless he opened an eye from time to time.
Selia was a bit vexed for she found it dull and it was very hot, and
they were so squashed, so she laid back a good bit against her Harold,
and attemted to list.
“Ha” cried the Judge suddenly waking, “and what have you to say for
yourself” as he glared at the villian, so the Wife fell to sobbing,
and all the audience were greatly moved. But poor Selia was so sleepy
with stuffiness that she dropped off without hearing more and only
woke in time to hear the worst. The Villian and Wife had exprest their
regrets, the jurys had talked the matter over, and the Judge was
sitting on them, with a black cap on his head.
In slow and solemn words he drorled forth his mind and the end of it
all was that he condemned the Wife and the Villian both to prison for
six months to learn to mend their ways, at which the Husband rubbed
hands of glee and the wicked Wife and the terrible Villian trailed
out to their sad fate, at which the meeting broke up, and some were
heard to say it had not been much fun. But Harold said it was a good
show, as the Judge had made four jokes. So they pushed out through the
throng to the taxi still waiting and poured quietly back home as
Harold was to write some more that day about how to make a splash in
socierty for the front page of his newspaper.