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. Learned 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