Even javelin-men fell asleep with their spears in their hands; the marshal dozed in his chair, ushers leaned against the pillars which supported the gallery, while witnesses rubbed their eyes and yawned as they gave their evidence.

A case of trifling importance was proceeding with as steady a pace as though an empire’s fate, instead of a butcher’s honour, were involved.  One butcher had slandered another butcher.

The art of advocacy was being exercised between an Irishman and a Scotchman, which made the English language quite a hotch-potch of equivocal words and a babel of sounds.

The slander was one that seemed to shake the very foundations of butcherdom throughout the world—­namely, an insinuation that the plaintiff had sold Australian mutton for Scotch beef; on the face of it an extraordinary allegation, although it had to find its way for the interpretation of a jury as to its meaning.  Amidst this costly international wrangle the Judge kept his temper, occasionally cheering the combatants by saying in an interrogative tone, “Yes?” and in the meanwhile writing the following on a slip of paper which he handed to a friend:—­

“GREAT PRIZE COMPETITION FOR PATIENCE.

Hawkins       First prize. 
Job           Honourable mention.”

Much earlier in the evening an application had been made by way of finding out how far the Judge “would go,” as the man tests the wheels of an express.  Every wheel had a good ring.  He was prepared for a long run.  Every case was to be struck out if the parties were not there.

After a while a feeling of compunction seemed to come over him.

“One moment,” said he, after the case in hand had proceeded for an hour or so.  “This case seems as if it will occupy some time; it is the last but three of the common jury cases, and—­I mean to say—­if the gentlemen of the special jury like to go till—­seven o’clock this evening, they may do so, or they may amuse themselves by sitting in court listening to this case.”

There was a shuffling of feet and a murmur like that of bees.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “do whatever will be most agreeable to yourselves.  I only wish to consider your comfort and convenience.”

“A damned pretty convenience,” said a special juryman, “to be kept here all night!”

“Return punctually at seven, gentlemen, please; you are released till then.”

Any person who knows Nottingham and has to spend in that city two weary hours, between 5 o’clock and 7 p.m., wandering up and down that vast market-place, will understand the state of mind to which those special jurymen were reduced when they indulged in audible curses.

There was, however, an element in this condition of things which his lordship had not taken into consideration, and that was the Bar.

Several members were unnecessarily detained by this order of the court.  Their mess was at the George Hotel; at seven they must be in court or within its precincts; at seven they dined.  They chose the precincts, and sending for their butler, ordered the mess to be brought to the vacant Judge’s room, the second Judge having gone away.