“Some on ’em smells summat like paint.”

This was quite sufficient for Platt.

“Come now,” said he, “that’s a very sensible answer.  You are aware, as a man of undoubted intelligence, that there are various colours of paint.  Had this smell any particular colour, think you?”

“Wall, I dunnow, sir.”

“Don’t answer hurriedly; take your time.  We only want to get at the truth.  Now, what colour do you say this smell belonged to?”

“Wall, I don’t raightly know, sir.”

“I see.  But what do you say to yellow?  Had it a yellow smell, think you?”

“Wall, sir, I doan’t think ur wus yaller, nuther.  No, sir, not quite yaller; I think it was moore of a blue like.”

“A blue smell.  We all know a blue smell when we see it.”

Of course, I need not say the laughter was going on in peals, much to Platt’s delight.  Tindal was simply in an ecstasy, but did all he could to suppress his enjoyment of the scene.

Then Platt resumed,—­

“You think it was more of a blue smell like?  Now, let me ask you, there are many kinds of blue smells, from the smell of a Blue Peter, which is salt, to that of the sky, which depends upon the weather.  Was it dark, or—­”

“A kind of sky-blue, sir.”

“More like your scarf?”

Up went Hodge’s hand to see if he could feel the colour.

“Yes,” said he, “that’s more like—­”

“Zummut like your scarf?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then he was asked as to a variety of solids and liquids; and the man shook his head, intimating that he could go a deuce of a way, but that there were bounds even to human knowledge.

Then Platt questioned him on less abstruse topics, and to all of his questions he kept answering,—­

“Yes, my lord.”

“Were fish remnants,” asked Platt, “sometimes thrown into this reservoir of filth, such as old cods’ heads with goggle eyes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Rari nantes in gurgite vasto?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Thesiger could stand it no longer.  He had been writhing while the court had been roaring with laughter, which all the ushers in the universe could not suppress.

“My lord, my lord, there must be some limit even to cross-examination by my friend.  Does your lordship think it is fair to suggest a classical quotation to a respectable but illiterate labourer?”

Tindal, who could not keep his countenance—­and no man who witnessed the scene could—­said,—­

“It all depends, Mr. Thesiger, whether this man understands Latin.”  Whereupon Platt immediately turned to the witness and said,—­

“Now, my man, attend:  Rari nantes in gurgite vasto.  You understand that, do you not?”

“Yes, my lord,” answered the witness, stroking his chin.

Tindal, trying all he could to suppress his laughter, said: