(_A Fancy Sketch of the Possible._)
It was the first day under the operation of the new Act. Everyone was a
little nervous about the outcome, and JOHN JONES, the Barrister, was no
exception to the general rule. At three o'clock he was in the full swing
of an impassioned appeal to the Jury.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. JONES," said the Judge, glancing at the clock,
"but I am afraid I must interrupt you. I cannot hear you any longer."
"But, my Lord, I have not touched upon a third of the case. I can assure
you my remarks shall be as brief as possible."
"That is not the point, Mr. JONES," replied his Lordship. "I am
following your argument with the liveliest interest, and I am sure that
all you would wish to say would be of the greatest possible service to
your client; but unfortunately I happen to know that you prepare your
cases in the early hours of the morning. Now, you know the law as well I
do. If you have not been at work to-day for eight hours, of course I
shall be happy to hear; but if you have----"
"As your Lordship pleases," said poor JONES, and he gathered up his
papers, and left the Court.
"Just in time, Sir," observed the attendant in the robing-room, as he
put the Barrister's wig in its box, and assisted him to divest himself
of his gown. "Had you come five minutes later, we should have gone."
"Really! How would that have suited silk and stuff?"
"Caused a fearful row, I am afraid, Sir. But we daren't exceed the eight
hours' limit, and we must keep two or three of them for some work we
have in the evening."
When JONES found himself in the Strand he noticed that the traffic was
considerably less than usual. The omnibuses were few and far between,
and he did not see a cab in any direction.
"Yes, Sir," replied a policeman, who was removing his band of office,
preparatory to going home; "you won't find many. Eight hours' limit,
Sir. Good-day, Sir. I am off myself."
The boats had ceased running; there were no trams. To pass the time he
thought he would call upon the Editor, whose rooms were in Fleet Street.
"I hope I am not interrupting you," he said, as he entered the sanctum.
"Interrupting me! Why, I am delighted to see you. We have nothing to do.
Mustn't exceed the eight hours, and they were up at two o'clock. But how
did you get in?"
"Oh, the Publisher opened the door, and then returned to a rubber of
whist he was playing with the Reader, the Manager, and the Head of the
Advertisement Department. I was introduced to them all. Then I watched a
tug of war going on in the composing-room between the Compositors on the
one side, and the Machinists and Foundry-men on the other, and came up
here."
"Very glad to see you, my dear fellow!" and the Editor once again shook
hands.
A little later JONES entered a restaurant, but he was refused dinner.
The eight hours' limit had cleared off the cooks and the waiters.
Half-starving, he purchased a stall for the theatre. For a while his
thoughts were distracted by the excellence of the performance. Suddenly,
in the most interesting part of the play, the curtain was prematurely
dropped.
"Very sorry," said the Stage Manager, addressing the audience from
behind the footlights, "but, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have no option. We
had a rehearsal this morning of the new piece, and, taking this into
consideration, our limit is reached. I may seize this opportunity for
regretfully announcing that as two performances take more than eight
hours, the customary Saturday _Matinee_ will for the future be
discontinued."
The orchestra played a few bars of the National Anthem, and the theatre
cleared. JONES strolled on to the Embankment, and, the evening being
pleasant, took a seat. Beside him was a student reading for examination,
a clergyman thinking out a sermon, and an artist taking a rough sketch.
JONES took out a brief himself and opened it.
"It's no business of mine," said a policeman off duty, who happened to
be passing, "but you gents will get yourselves into trouble if you
exceed the limit."
"I will go home," exclaimed JONES; and he walked to his suburban villa.
But the place was locked up, and the servants did not dare to open the
door to him, as they had finished their legal spell of labour hours
before.
"Don't feel well," he murmured. "Will call upon my Doctor."
"Now, my dear Sir," said the medical man, as JONES appeared before him,
"you know I must not prescribe for you. The eight hours' limit was
reached at four."
"Then, I suppose I must die. Will the Act allow me to do _that_?"
"You, as a Barrister, ought to know best, my dear Sir. What is _your_
idea?"
"My idea?" echoed the considering JONES. "Well, I should say----But,
stay; I am not entitled to give a professional opinion until to-morrow
morning! Still, offhand I may observe, that such an illegal death would
savour of positive suicide; but it would not matter very much, as under
existing circumstances suicide in some form or other seems to me
inevitable!" And JONES was right!
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[Illustration: MAXIMS FOR THE BAR. NO. V.
"A Curate may be cross-examined with comparative safety."]
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