My voice was desperately calm but the pencil in my hands was playing a
tattoo on the desk.

"Shure, Oi did, Sorr."

"Then why in the name of common sense, man, didn't you say so before?" I
burst out.

"Shure Oi didn't loike ter throuble yiz, an' you readin' it out so
beautiful-loike. An' faith, Oi thought 'twas some scut av a Daypont you
wuz spakin' av as not doin'----"

Clancy looked at me and my face must have been awesome, for he stopped
with mouth agape.

"_Nor was the merchandise upon said shelf placed there by deponent?_" I
read inquiringly.

"'Twas Oi that put ut there av a Friday marnin,' Sorr, an'----"

"_Deponent further avers_," I continued with fearful calm, "_that he
never knew the said shelf was unsafe?_"

"Shure 'twas the day befure Oi was spakin' to th' Super, an' ses Oi to
him--O'Toole, ses Oi, the shilf foreninst the dure is broke, ses Oi, but
Oi've stooffed a bit of sthick in fur a nail, ses Oi, an' 'twill holt
good an' ut don't come down, Oi ses. Moike, ses he----"

"For Heaven's sake man, stop! You must have known all this two years
ago--why didn't you speak then?"

"'Twas afraid av throublin' yiz with deetales Oi wuz. Do ut make any
difference, Sorr?"

"Difference!" I burst out. "Your case is absurd--utterly impossible and
absurd! Why, man--you haven't got a leg to stand on!"

Clancy looked at his feet for a moment.

"'Tis me spoine----" he began.

Then he stopped and smiled.

"'Tis for you to know, Sorr," he added, sadly.

I didn't laugh, for I saw tears in Clancy's childlike eyes.

But I discontinued that action, and my affidavits now read with
unprofessional clarity.

HIS HONOUR.[A]

[Footnote A: The Judge who hears litigated motions does not now sign ex
parte orders. The inside history of this change in the practice may some
day be found in a biography. Meanwhile this tale is told "without
prejudice."]

Van was out of temper. Van, the calm squelcher of office boys--the
recognised saviour of managing clerks--the patient instructor of
sophomoric attorneys--the courteous Guide, Philosopher and Friend for
all busy members of the New York Bar--Van, whose serenity and sanity had
withstood some thirty years of service as Chambers Clerk, was in ill
humour.

Unusual as this was, it might have been explained if the Judge who
throws papers on the floor had been upon the Bench. But his Honour was
presiding over another Court. Martin, therefore, put it down to the
weath