Between me and the three lord judges, some few lawyers were gathering up bags and papers and pens and so forth, from a narrow table in the middle of the room, as if a case had been disposed of, and no other were called on.  But before I had time to look round twice, the stout fierce man espied me, and shouted out with a flashing stare—­

“How now, countryman, who art thou?”

“May it please your worship,” I answered him loudly, “I am John Ridd, of Oare parish, in the shire of Somerset, brought to this London, some two months back by a special messenger, whose name is Jeremy Stickles; and then bound over to be at hand and ready, when called upon to give evidence, in a matter unknown to me, but touching the peace of our lord the King, and the well-being of his subjects.  Three times I have met our lord the King, but he hath said nothing about his peace, and only held it towards me, and every day, save Sunday, I have walked up and down the great hall of Westminster, all the business part of the day, expecting to be called upon, yet no one hath called upon me.  And now I desire to ask your worship, whether I may go home again?”

“Well, done, John,” replied his lordship, while I was panting with all this speech; “I will go bail for thee, John, thou hast never made such a long speech before; and thou art a spunky Briton, or thou couldst not have made it now.  I remember the matter well, and I myself will attend to it, although it arose before my time”—­he was but newly Chief Justice—­“but I cannot take it now, John.  There is no fear of losing thee, John, any more than the Tower of London.  I grieve for His Majesty’s exchequer, after keeping thee two months or more.”

“Nay, my lord, I crave your pardon.  My mother hath been keeping me.  Not a groat have I received.”

“Spank, is it so?” his lordship cried, in a voice that shook the cobwebs, and the frown on his brow shook the hearts of men, and mine as much as the rest of them,—­“Spank, is His Majesty come to this, that he starves his own approvers?”

“My lord, my lord,” whispered Mr. Spank, the chief-officer of evidence, “the thing hath been overlooked, my lord, among such grave matters of treason.”

“I will overlook thy head, foul Spank, on a spike from Temple Bar, if ever I hear of the like again.  Vile varlet, what art thou paid for?  Thou hast swindled the money thyself, foul Spank; I know thee, though thou art new to me.  Bitter is the day for thee that ever I came across thee.  Answer me not—­one word more and I will have thee on a hurdle.”  And he swung himself to and fro on his bench, with both hands on his knees; and every man waited to let it pass, knowing better than to speak to him.

“John Ridd,” said the Lord Chief Justice, at last recovering a sort of dignity, yet daring Spank from the corners of his eyes to do so much as look at him, “thou hast been shamefully used, John Ridd.  Answer me not boy; not a word; but go to Master Spank, and let me know how he behaves to thee;” here he made a glance at Spank, which was worth at least ten pounds to me; “be thou here again to-morrow, and before any other case is taken, I will see justice done to thee.  Now be off boy; thy name is Ridd, and we are well rid of thee.”