, my Lord, he has no right to
speak to me like this?

_Judge_. Be good enough to attend to the Witness. I have nothing to do
with it.

_Wit._ (_impatiently_). Now, Sir, am I to wait all day?

_Coun._ (_mildly_). I really venture to suggest that is not quite the
tone to adopt.

_Wit._ Don't bully me, Sir! I am here to answer any questions you like
to put, always supposing that you have any worth answering.

_Coun._ But come--surely you ought to--

_Wit._ I am not here to learn my duty from you, Sir. You don't know
your subject, Sir. How long have you been called?

_Coun._ I decline to reply.

_Judge_ (_to Counsel_). Now you had really better be careful. I wish
to treat the Bar with every respect, but if you waste any more time
I shall feel strongly inclined to bring your conduct before your
Benchers.

_Wit._ You hear what his Lordship says. What are you going to do next?

_Coun._ (_confused_). I don't know.

_Wit._ (_to Jury_). He doesn't know! I needn't stay here any longer.

[_"Stands" down._

_Judge_ (_to Jury_). May I ask you, Gentlemen, how you consider this
case is being conducted?

_Foreman of the Jury_. With pleasure, my Lord. We were all using
the same word which exactly describes the situation. We consider the
deportment of the Witness "noble." Distinctly noble.

[_Scene closes in upon despair of Counsel._

* * * * *

ROBERT IN A FOG!

Well, if we ain't a been and had a werry pretty dose of reel London
Fog lately, I, for one, shood like to kno when we did have one. As
for its orful effecks upon tempers, speshally female ones, Well,
it's about enuff to drive a pore Waiter, let alone a hard-workin,
middel-aged Husband, stark staring mad!

[Illustration]

However, thank goodness, I've got one werry grand xception, and he
reglar cheers me up with his constant good humer.

I need ardly say as it's my old Amerrycan friend, who has cum back to
the Grand Hotel again, jest for to see what a reel London Winter is
like, and he bears it all, fog and all, splendidly. He was jest in
time to see Lord MARE's Sho from one of our best front winders, and
if he didn't sit there and larf away as the pore soddened and soaked
persession parsed by, speshally at the Lord MARE's six gennelmen with
their padded carves and pink silk stockins, I never seed a gennelman
larf. "Why on earth, Mr. ROBERT," he says to me, "why don't they
have it in the bewtifool Summer, for it's