I was gratified to find that the expert whose evidence it was my duty to test by cross-examination, was soon in the witness-box.  He was a gentleman of considerable bulk, which gave one of my learned friends, who was the first to take him in hand, the opportunity of saying, that he was a “witness of great weight,” a remark which caused much laughter—­even the Chairman of the Committee, a somewhat austere person, indulging in a stealthy smile at the ingenious sally.  Such waggish flashes as this, I need scarcely say, were most welcome, and afforded, when they came, a pleasant relief to the necessary dryness that characterised, perforce, the proceedings.  As the hands of the clock progressed, waiters carried into the Committee, various light refreshments, such as brandy-and-sodawater, sandwiches, and buns.  My colleagues, too, when not actively engaged in the declamatory duties of their profession, partook of the viands with which they had provided themselves before the commencement of the day’s labours.  Thus the cups devoted to custard soon were empty, and the paper bags, once occupied by buns, crumpled up and discarded.  I gazed at the clock.  It was past two, and I was getting terribly hungry.  I felt that my voice was becoming weak from famine.  This would never do, and might endanger my clients’ interests.  I looked round eagerly for PORTINGTON.  He was nowhere to be seen.  I whispered to a colleague, “would the examination-in-chief last much longer?” and was told it could not possibly be concluded within a quarter of an hour.  I made up my mind to hasten to a refreshment-bar I had seen in the corridor before I had entered the room, and hurriedly left my seat.  I pushed my way through the public, and had scarcely got outside when I found my faithful clerk laden with sandwiches and sherry making post-haste towards me.

“Get back, Sir, as quick as you can,” he cried, as he thrust the invigorating ingredients of my midday meal into my hands; “run, Sir, run; I hope they haven’t noticed your absence!”

Rather offended at the peremptory tone adopted by my subordinate I returned to my seat, and was pleased to find that the examination-in-chief was nearly ended.  I pulled myself together.  I drank a glass of sherry and finished a sandwich.  My voice was in excellent tone, and I felt that the crisis of my life had indeed been reached.  I knew that it was now or never.  I had this great chance of distinguishing myself by pleasing my clients and securing a practice at the Parliamentary Bar, which might mean hundreds, nay, thousands a-year.  I imagined my children at Eton, my wife in a carriage and pair, my address in Grosvenor Place.  All I had to do to secure these tardily-attained luxuries was to protect my clients by my careful attention to their interests.  The moment at length arrived.  I rose to cross-examine.

“And now, Sir,” I said; feeling that I was master of the situation, and that my voice had a magnificent resonance, which was striking terror into the heart of the witness before me, I am going to put a few questions to you!”