Part 5
Affairs in the street were quite as queer as in the shops. While the boys were looking in at a window, a silvery voice behind them called out, “Stalest Tellacrams—Last week’s paper at double price;” and turning round they saw a young lady, dressed in perfect taste, the only blunders about her being that she had no hair on her head but her own, which was neither dyed nor bleached, nor combed down over her eyes _à la_ pet terrier, and that she walked like a human being, not as ladies in the ordinary world do, with their heels perched up on things like a couple of inches cut off the legs of a chair, and wearing their dresses so tight, that their knees seem to be tied together with tape. A footman followed her, who had the calves of his legs in front, and the tie of his cravat at the back, and whose neck was not at all stiff, but shook like a shape of calves-foot jelly. He carried a quantity of newspapers, wrapped in scented envelopes. Instead of getting pennies for her newspapers, the young lady, whenever anybody took one, curtsied low, and kissing her hand, gravely gave them a penny, saying, “Thanks, thanks—a thousand, thousand thanks; Telegraphina will never forget your kindness.”
[Sidenote: CORDIAL BUMPERS.]
[Illustration]
The people, when they met in the street, instead of passing, walked straight up to each other, bumped one another heavily, and then went on smiling as if all was right. While Norval was gazing after the pretty young lady with the newspapers, an old dame, with a reticule on her head and a bonnet full of apples in her hand, made straight at him. Norval got out of the way, and she nearly fell on her nose, the apples rolling out on the pavement.
[Sidenote: ANCIENT THOMAS.]
“What a rude old man, to be sure!” said she, scowling at Norval.
“I only got out of the way, ma’am, if you mean me by old man,” said he.
“And what’s the use of people who are not in the way when they are wanted?” said she. “Old men like you——”
“I’m not an old man,” said Norval, interrupting.
“When were you born?” said the old lady, snappishly.
“Eight years ago,” said Norval.
“Then you’re eight years old.” Norval did not see any answer to this, and she went on, “Does your papa ever tell lies?”
“No,” said Norval, indignantly.
“Doesn’t he call you his little man sometimes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re old and you’re a man, so you’re an old man.”
Norval did not quite see it—“I don’t feel old,” he said.
“How can I know how you feel,” replied the old lady, “when you won’t bump me? Oh!” she added, screwing up her lips and clasping her hands, “I do love a bumper! Is your name Tom?”
“No,” said Norval.
[Sidenote: SCARCELY APARIENT.]
“That’s a pity; there’s no bumper like an old Tom; he’s a noble spirit, always ginoowine.”
“I can’t follow you,” said Norval.
“And did I say I wanted you to follow me? Gals have no followers here; I only wanted my regular bump.”
Norval having a grandfather who was fond of phrenology, had picked up a smattering, and was just going to say that he thought it was only silly people that wanted regular bumps, when suddenly the old lady called out, “Where are my pears? there were four of them.”
Jaques and Ranulf, who had picked up the apples, had been standing ready to hand them back to her ever so long.
“I beg your pardon,” said Jaques, “they are apples.”
“I say they’re pears,” said the old lady, testily. “How many have you?”
“Eight,” said Jaques.
“Well, and isn’t that four pairs? I always like to buy them pared; it saves knives and trouble,” said she. “It’s a pity that a boy like you should be a beggar.”
“I’m not a beggar,” said Jaques.
“Didn’t you beg my pardon?”
“Yes.”
“Those who beg are beggars, that’s sure,” said she.
[Sidenote: COURTEOUS.]
Just at this moment a policeman came up. He took off his helmet, and making a low bow, said, “I heard the word beg. May I take the great liberty of inquiring whether any one has thought proper to beg? and if so, from whom, and for what? If for anything real, good and well; but if merely from politeness or courtesy, then to be visited with the utmost severity of the law.”
Jaques, who had always been taught fearlessly to speak the truth, said at once, “I begged the old lady’s pardon,” half doubting what would happen. To his great surprise the policeman turned round sharp on the old lady, and asked, “Did this boy beg your pardon?”
“Yes,” said she.
“Then, madam, with peelings of the deepest fain, it is my duty to inform you that you must at once be led to the court.”
“The court!” screamed the old lady; “it has been my ambition for fifty years to be courted, and now it has come at last.”
“It has, madam; you are now about to be presented at court by the aid of the police. Will your Majesty deign to proceed?”
[Sidenote: XPLAINING.]
“Majesty!” said she; “I can’t understand it.”
“Let me endeavour to make it plain,” said the constable, with a wave of his hand like a professor lecturing. “Will your gracious Majesty deign to inform me whether I am correct in saying that this boy begged your pardon?”
“Yes.”
“And would your Highness further permit me to inquire whether it is or is not a fact that begging is contrary to law?”
“Yes.”
“May I also be suffered humbly and respectfully to put the question, whether anybody can pardon people for breaking the law, except the Queen?”
[Sidenote: EVERY INCH A QUEEN.]
“No.”
“Then I reverentially request permission of your gracious Majesty to point out that as you were asked to pardon when he broke the law, you must be the queen.”
“But I’ve got no crown,” said she, quite puzzled.
“I must be condescendingly excused for venturing to differ from your Serene Highness. If you will feel for it, you will find you have a crown to your head.”
“Why, so I have,” said she, and suddenly drawing herself up, and assuming an air of most ridiculous dignity, added, “What, ho! bring hither my sceptre.”
The boys could scarcely keep in their laughter, and the difficulty increased when the policeman produced his baton, and going down on one knee handed it to the old lady, who immediately aimed a fierce blow at his head, crying,—
“Down with every one that has a crown except myself!”
The policeman mildly replied, “Your Majesty, I haven’t got a crown in the world; my missus doesn’t allow me more than 4 and 9 a-week for pocket-money.”
[Sidenote: A BOUNDING JOY.]
[Illustration]
“Just as well for you; those who are limited to four and ninepence can feel proper respect for a sovereign,” said the old lady; “now for our court.” So saying, she began to perform a most wild _minuet de la cour_, the policeman beating time with his hands. Then ordering him to take off his greatcoat, she fastened it on as a train, and set off for the court.
[Sidenote: RUNNING MELODY.]
The policeman went first, playing a grand march on a Jew’s harp, which he produced from his pocket. It was as big as a fire-shovel, but this did not matter, as he had a mouth reaching from ear to ear. The old lady followed, holding her baton-sceptre up, and with her long, sharp chin cocked so high in the air that you could have hung a hat upon it. The policeman’s music made her quite lively, and she began to sing, with a chorus to each verse, which ran thus,—
[Music:
Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy, Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy, Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy, tum-tum-tum.]
during the singing of which she skipped about from one side to the other in a most lively manner.
[Sidenote: SOVEREIGN SPECIFICS.]
I never thought to see The day I queen should be; It’s come at last, however, You well may cry—“I never!” Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
Nor I, but still it’s poz, However strange, because Policeman says ’tis so; X is ’xact, you know. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
Our reign shall last so long, You’ll need umbrellas strong; Woe to the minion’s skin Who sports a gingham thin! Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
A sovereign we shall be, Ruling land and sea In straighter lines than youc Ould find in copy-book. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
We’ll have a Parliament Cake and wine event Every day or two, Invites select and few. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
To have a feast of rea Son at our royal tea; Likewise a flow of soul, By Punch from royal bowl. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
And nominate a Prime Minister of rhyme; Pros and Cons shall banished be, Except conundrums after tea. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
Look out for famous sport, For we are going to court; So bachelors beware, And let no caitiff dare Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
Refuse our royal suit Of livery, and put On his own airs instead, Or off shall go his head. Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.
[Sidenote: BAND-DITTY.]
Each time the old lady took up the chorus, she skipped about from one side to the other with a briskness that did her credit; and as she marched and tripped along the street, the policemen she passed joined the procession, each producing an instrument from his pocket, so that soon the old lady had a band before her, playing most vigorously on the following:—
A Jew’s Harp. A Penny Trumpet. Three Threepenny Fiddles. A Handbell. Two Twopenny Flutes. A Mouth Accordion. A Triangle. A Pair of Bones;
[Sidenote: BATONS D’ORCHESTRE.]
and the inspector led the band, with his hat fastened to his waist-belt, keeping them to their beat by drumming in a spirited manner on the crown of it with a pair of batons.
[Sidenote: DECIDED HITS.]
[Illustration]
The boys tried very hard to find out what the tune of the verses was, but could make nothing of it. All the melody seemed to rest in the chorus instead of running through the song. The people in the streets, however, were evidently greatly delighted with it, as, the moment the procession came within hearing, they all stood still and began gravely to beat time with their sticks and umbrellas, those who had none wagging their heads up and down, like China mandarins. The boys laughed heartily when they saw several dozen umbrellas, sticks, and heads solemnly waving about, while the policemen squeaked and croaked, banged and tinkled, on their instruments, and the people slowly turned round their backs and bowed low to the houses as the old lady passed. Whenever she, in skipping about, came near any of the people who were bowing, she took a rise out of them by administering a sound whack with the baton-sceptre, which knocked them down, shouting, “Rise, Sir What’s-your-name Thingammy,” which the poor fellows did with a very beknighted look. Presently they arrived at a large building, at the door of which the policemen turned aside to let the old lady enter, and having played a final flourish, repocketed their instruments. The old lady on reaching the door turned round, and finding the policeman who had given her the baton waiting, she grasped it firmly, saying—
[Sidenote: A THUMPING GAL.]
“I’ll give it to you,” and, suiting the action to the utterance, she brought it down bang as hard as she could, as he bowed low, so that he fell flat on the pavement.
[Illustration]
“Rise, Sir Charle——”
“Stop, stop!” he cried; “don’t turn a day constable into a knight.”
[Sidenote: GIVE AND TAKE.]
“Back to your beat,” said she, majestically.
“I think it’s rather beat to my back,” replied he, although, curiously enough, he did not appear at all discomposed or hurt.
“Take yourself up.”
“We take others up, not ourselves; besides, you’ve battened me down.”
“Oh, you downy fellow!”
“Yes, you can’t get a rise out of me, that’s plain.”
“X plain yourself,” said she.
“No pretty Bobby-she should say,” said he.
“Move on!” cried she—“move on, siree!”
“Peeler of the State, I stands,” said he.
Suddenly some one rushed out at the door (knocking the old lady so that she tumbled over the policeman), and coming up to the boys said, “Are you judges of sweet things?”
“I should rather think so,” replied Jaques.
[Sidenote: GETTING A WIGGING.]
“Then come along at once,” said he; and before they had time to think, he hurried them upstairs into a room where three pompous-looking attendants in white coats and enormous black neckcloths dressed them up in grand robes, put immense full-bottomed wigs on their heads, and opening a door, pointed to three large chairs. The boys went in and sat down on the chairs, while everybody in the court rose up, making a low bow, and a crier called out—
“All persons, without any further ado before my Lords the Justices of Assize so small Boyer and Determiner, and Jug ale Delivery, draw beer and give to attendants.”
This announcement about beer might have appeared to be an aberration on the crier’s part, had it not been that, as is usual in criminal courts, there were plenty of queer mugs among the people in the building.
[Sidenote: COURT BEAUTY.]
The boys hardly knew what to think of their new position. Norval and Jaques were rather overawed by their robes. Ranulf had got between his brothers, and so was seated in the Lord Chief Justice’s chair. At first he looked as grave as a judge, which was just what he ought to have done in the circumstances; but after a little he glanced round at Norval, and seeing him in his wig, which came down to his waist, was just on the point of bursting out laughing, when the Clerk of Court, who wore green goggles as large as macaroons, peered over the Bench from below, saying, “If yer Ludship pleases,” and sat down again.
[Illustration]
“I hope I do please,” said Ranulf. “Papa always bids us try to please.”
[Sidenote: A SWEET THING.]
“Your Lordship pleases me very much,” said a charming voice from the prisoner’s dock, in which stood a lovely lady, dressed in full Court costume, feathers and all, who kissed her daintily-gloved hand to Ranulf.
“But I thought we were brought here as judges of sweet things,” said Jaques.
The Clerk of Court peering over the bench again, said, “’Xac’ly so, m’ Lud; the sweetest thing in prisoners we’ve had for a long time, m’ Lud,” and sat down again.
“What is she charged with?” said Norval.
“P’tty lasseny, m’ Lud.”
“Pretty lasseny!” said Jaques aside to Norval. “I am sure she is guilty of that.”
“But,” said Norval, “what is she charged with doing?”
“Stealing a heart, m’ Lud.”
Norval, who had once been in court at a trial, thought the right thing to do was to take a note; so, seizing an enormous pen that was on the bench, he wrote, repeating aloud as he went on, “Prisoner charged with stealing a tart.”
[Sidenote: QUEER QUERIES.]
“The person who stole tarts was a knave, and I thought a knave was a man?” said Ranulf.
“Yes,” said Norval; “but you know the women want to do what the men do nowadays.”
“I’ve heard of their wanting rights,” said Jaques; “but stealing isn’t a right, it’s a wrong, isn’t it?”
“Never mind,” said Norval; “it won’t do to appear not to understand. Ranny, you’re the old judge, you know, because you’re in the middle, so you must ask the questions. You had better ask what the prisoner’s name is. Now, look grave,” said he, as he observed the dimples in his brother’s cheeks beginning to show again.
Ranulf pursed his lips up very tight, and then said, “I want to know what the pretty lady’s name is?”
“No, no,” said Norval; “prisoner.”
“I want to know the pretty prisoner’s name?” said Ranulf.
[Sidenote: STEAK TART.]
“No, no—just prisoner,” said Norval; “say it again.”
“Well, then, I want to know the just prisoner’s name?” said Ranulf.
“Just so, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk, bobbing up; “prisoner’s name is Victoria Lawsenj. Yer Ludship had better ask her to plead.”
Norval whispered to Ranulf, “Tell her she’s charged with stealing a tart. Ask whether she is guilty or not guilty.”
Ranulf looked as grave as he could, and said “Victoria Lawsenj, you are charged with stealing a tart——”
“Beg pardon, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk, starting up; “some m’stake, my Lud——”
Ranulf began again, “Victoria Lawsenj, you are charged with stealing a tart and some steak.”
“Must pray yer Ludsh’p t’ excuse me ’gain; yer Ludship said tart and steak.”
“Was that the wrong order?” said Ranulf, meekly; “then I’ll say steak and tart.”
[Sidenote: NOTA DOUBT OF IT.]
“But, m’ Lud, the steak is a mistake, and the tart is another.”
“Very well,” said Ranulf; “I’ll say that she is charged with stealing a female steak—cow-beef—and that the tart was not really a tart but a beefsteak pie.”
“But, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk; “really, m’ Lud, yer Ludship knows best, m’ Lud, of course; but, m’ Lud, I would suggest that your Ludship said tart instead of heart.”
Here Norval, remembering what he had seen in court, broke in, “But tart is right; it must be right—I’ve got it in my notes.”
This completely flabbergasted the Clerk, who gasped a feeble “M’ Lud,” and sank down in his seat in despair.
Jaques, practical as usual, whispered to Ranulf, “Never mind whether it’s a tart or a heart; just say, ‘You are charged with stealing a tart, or a heart, or something. Are you guilty or not guilty?’”
Ranulf took this advice; and turning to the lady, who was gracefully fanning herself, he asked her the question, only he got confused towards the end, and made it—“Are you gilded or not gilded?”
“Oh, my Lord,” said the lady, “there’s no gilt about me; I’m as true as steel.”
Up started the Clerk.
“Take down, m’ Lud, that she says it’s true she stole.”
“No, I didn’t; I only steeled,” said she.
“Steeeled!” said the Clerk, contemptuously; “how do you spell ‘steeeeled’?”
“S-t-e-e-l-e-d, you old goose!”
[Sidenote: WHOLESALE SLAUGHTER.]
“Yer Ludship sees how bad she is; her manner’s bad, her grammar’s bad, and her spelling’s bad. Your Ludship had better add another count for murder.”
“Murder of what?” said Jaques.
“The Queen’s English, m’ Lud.”
“That would be a great many murders, for there are more than thirty million English,” said Jaques, who had learned the population in his geography book; “how could she murder so many?”
The Clerk was quite puzzled at this, and tried to look as wise as he could, which was not very wise, but otherwise. There was a long pause, during which the prisoner ate an ice and drank a cool beverage that were brought to her by a powdered footman, after which she looked brighter and lovelier than ever, while everybody else in court was miserable with stuffiness and heat.
“Could not we have ices too?” said Ranulf, eyeing the tray eagerly.
The footman said nothing, but turning round made a low bow, walked up to the bench, and as the boys held out their hands for ices, gravely shook his head, made another low bow, and walked out.
[Sidenote: BRUTAL BOXING.]
By this time the Clerk had recovered himself, and a jury having been called, they were got into the jury-box. This was a matter of some difficulty, as the box was made without any door, and the jurymen were seized by ushers and thrown over the partition, tumbling in a confused heap. When the whole twelve had been thrown over, they presented a sorry spectacle of torn clothes and dusty faces. There were no seats in the box, but the ushers threw in some chairs on the top of the jurymen, who appeared to take all as a matter of course. The plaintiff was then called forward, and a large wooden box placed over him by the ushers, who padlocked it down and then sat on the top of it.
[Sidenote: CASE FOR PLAINTIFF.]
“Why do you lock him up?” said Jaques.
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: JACK IN THE BOX.]
“Shall ’ave to beg yer Ludship’s pardon,” said the Clerk; “we don’t lock him up, we lock him down.”
“But why do you put him under a case?” said Jaques.
“To prevent him getting up case, m’ Lud.”
Jaques himself seemed rather shut up at this, and Norval, moved again by what he had once seen at a trial, said, “What is your name?”
“John,” said the voice, out of the box.
“It should be Jack, when he’s in a box, shouldn’t it?” said Ranulf; “and he ought to start up, oughtn’t he?”
“Oh, he will be sure to do that,” said the lady; “he always was an upstart, indeed he was, my dear—Lord, I mean,” said she, correcting herself with a smile.
“John What?” Norval went on.
“No, my name’s not John What,” said the voice from the box; “it’s John Doe.”
“That’s strange,” said Jaques; “I thought the case was about a heart, not about a doe.”
[Sidenote: LONGITUDE.]
“Yes, my Lud, but the charge is that she stole a Doe’s heart,” said the Clerk.
“Doe and hart, hart and doe; I don’t think I’ll ever understand it,” said Ranulf, with a sigh.
“P’raps if yer Ludship would keep in mind that in Doe _versus_ Roe——”
“Oh dear, oh dear! here’s a roe now; that’s another staggerer,” cried Jaques.
“Never mind,” whispered Norval—“look solemn, and make believe you know all about it.”
The examination of John Doe then began.
“How long have you known the prisoner?”
“Various lengths. I have known her from 2 feet 3 inches long to 5 feet 7½ inches long, as she is now. But even now she is sometimes pretty short with me. I’ve known her so long, in short, that the longer I knew her the more I got to long after her.”
“Well, I don’t want to know anything about long after; I mean, when did you first come across her?”
“I cross her! I never crossed her in my life. She had her own way as long as I knew her; it was she that was cross with me.”
[Sidenote: A TROUBLESOME TIME.]
“But I want to know the length of your acquaintance?”
“Some of my acquaintances are long and some short.”
“How shall I put it? Tell me, once for all, when you first met her.”
“When I first met her? I met her when I least expected it.”
“Really this is intolerable. I want you to tell me what was the time at which your first meeting took place.”
“Wild thyme, I think; but I’m no botanist, you know.”
“Tut, tut! At what period of time was it?”
“It wasn’t a period of thyme, it was a bank of thyme.”
“Will you answer, sir? Give me the date of your first meeting.”
“We had no dates at our first meeting, only raisins; and we ate them all, so I cannot give you any.”
[Sidenote: PUNY JUDGES.]
“A fig for your dates and raisins! I wish I could get at the _raison d’être_ of your answers. How can I put the question?”
[Illustration]
“That’s just what I want to know. How can you put such stupid questions?”
[Sidenote: LOUD LAUGHTER IN COURT.]
“M’ Lud, what am I to do? I can make nothing of this witness.”
Norval, who had learned a little Latin, replied, “Do you mean that you can annihilate him?”