Examined by Mr. JONES, K.C., counsel for the defence, Mr. JOHN SMITH said that it was quite true that he was a wealthy man. He had been a hero for some years.
Mr. Jones. And it is a well-paid profession?
The Plaintiff. Not ill-paid. For an ordinary rescue-that is to say, if the rescuer is in his ordinary clothes-fifteen shillings is the reward. If he is in his Sunday clothes, the fee is higher. Thus, if he dives in to save a man with his frock-coat on and wearing patent- leather boots he receives a guinea and an invitation to High Tea, naming his own day. But if he happens to be wearing brown boots with his frock-coat, the invitation to High Tea is not enforced. In the eyes of the law, patent-leathers are more costly than brown boots.
Mr. Justice Motley. What boots it?
[Hysterics in Court. Officer X 45 becomes limp with laughter.]
Mr. Jones. On this occasion how were you dressed?
The Plaintiff. In my ordinary clothes.
Mr. Jones. How was your attention first attracted to the defendant's position?
The Plaintiff. I am always on the look-out. It is my profession.
Mr. Justice Motley. In fact, with you it is a case of look out and hook out, eh?
[Paroxysms of laughter.]
Mr. Jones. You are not the JOHN SMITH who pushed a little boy into the Pond in 1899 in order to earn the fee for rescuing him?
The Plaintiff. I am not. I never rescue boys. It is not worth a busy man's while. Amateur heroes do it, I believe; but while the rate of payment is only seventeen-and-six per half-dozen no professional will touch them.
The defendant then entered the box.
Mr. Jones. Is it true, Mr. BROWN, that on the afternoon of the 16th of last month the plaintiff pulled you out of the river?
The Defendant. Yes, confound him!
Mr. Justice Motley. He found you .
[Prolonged mirth.]
Mr. Jones. Why are you annoyed?
The Defendant. Well, I was just beginning a bathe. I'd been looking forward to it all day. And no sooner had I got in than this fellow drags me out, making me swallow pints of water on the way.
Mr. Jones. You did not need his services?
The Defendant. Not a bit.
Mr. Jones. The plaintiff asserts that you were in obvious distress. He says you were splashing violently.
The Defendant. I was practising the Trudgeon stroke.
Mr. Jones. You were not sinking?
The Defendant. Not a bit of it.
Mr. Justice Motley. You can take a man to water, but you can't make him sink.
[Loud laughter, during which Mr. Punch's Representative was carried out in a state of collapse.]
CHATTY METHODS ON THE BENCH
["How silly you chaps are to get into debt with moneylenders," said Judge BACON to a batch of railway clerks, who were sued at the Bloomsbury County Court.- Daily Express.]
From a daily paper of the week after next:-
Before Mr. Justice JONES, JAMES MICHAEL PEABODY (19), and EDWARD PENNEFATHER (21), were accused of stealing goods to the value of eighteenpence from a fruiterer's stall in the Commercial Road. Constable X 15 deposed that, when arrested, accused endeavoured to conceal the stolen goods by swallowing them. (His Honour: "Rotters!"). The owner of the stall, on entering the witness-box to give evidence, appeared nervous.
His Honour (encouragingly). Come along, old son, pull yourself together and get it off your chest. Now, what's all this about these two chaps bagging your fruit?
Witness. It's this way, your Honour. One of them threw snuff in my face and, while I was sneezing, off they ran with my fruit.
His Honour (to prisoners). I say, you fellows, what! Hardly the game, that, was it? I call that a pretty thick sort of thing to do.
[Applause in court, which was instantly suppressed when it showed signs of stopping.]
In defence the prisoners said they were sorry, and would not do it again.
His Honour then summed up:-While, he said, it was a bit off if fellows were allowed to rot about and play the goat all over the shop, yet, in consideration of the fact that this was a first offence, he was inclined to allow justice to be tempered with mercy. (Applause.) The prisoners must jolly well get it into their fat heads that, if ever they were caught at that sort of game again, they would get it pretty hot. The law was not to be trifled with. It was merciful within limits, but when chaps asked for it, they got it in the neck. (Cheers.) And he was prepared to give the prisoners his solemn word that gaol was not all beer and skittles. If they didn't believe him, let them jolly well try and see. In the present case, taking everything into account, he would merely require them to shell out two quid apiece. If they declined to brass up, then they'd find themselves in Chokey before they could say Jack Robinson. And, if they wanted his candid opinion, they were a pair of crocks who ought to be ashamed of themselves; and he hoped they would never be such utter footlers as to let themselves be lugged into his Court again.
The prisoners, having paid their fine and thanked his Honour, then left the Court.