All the Fuzzies were in court this morning; Jack’s six, and the five from the constabulary post, and Ben’s Flora and Fauna, and the four Ruth Ortheris claimed.  There was too much discussion going on for anybody to keep an eye on them.  Finally one of the constabulary Fuzzies, either Dillinger or Dr. Crippen, and Ben Rainsford’s Flora and Fauna, came sauntering out into the open space between the tables and the bench dragging the hose of a vacuum-duster.  Ahmed Khadra ducked under a table and tried to get it away from them.  This was wonderful; screaming in delight, they all laid hold of the other end, and Mike and Mitzi and Superego and Complex ran to help them.  The seven of them dragged Khadra about ten feet before he gave up and let go.  At the same time, an incipient fight broke out on the other side of the arc of tables between the head of the language department at Mallorysport Academy and a spinsterish amateur phoneticist.  At this point, Judge Pendarvis, deciding that if you can’t prevent it, relax and enjoy it, rapped a few times with his gavel, and announced that court was recessed.

“You will all please remain here; this is not an adjournment, and if any of the various groups who seem to be discussing different aspects of the problem reach any conclusion they feel should be presented in evidence, will they please notify the bench so that court can be reconvened.  In any case, we will reconvene at eleven thirty.”

Somebody wanted to know if smoking would be permitted during the recess.  The Chief Justice said that it would.  He got out a cigar and lit it.  Mamma Fuzzy wanted a puff:  she didn’t like it.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike and Mitzi, Flora and Fauna scampering around and up the steps behind the bench.  When he looked again, they were all up on it, and Mitzi was showing the court what she had in her shoulder bag.

He got up, with Mamma and Baby, and crossed to where Leslie Coombes was sitting.  By this time, somebody was bringing in a coffee urn from the cafeteria.  Fuzzies ought to happen oftener in court.

* * * * *

The gavel tapped slowly.  Little Fuzzy scrambled up onto Jack Holloway’s lap.  After five days in court, they had all learned that the gavel meant for Fuzzies and other people to be quiet.  It might be a good idea, Jack thought, to make a little gavel, when he got home, and keep it on the table in the living room for when the family got too boisterous.  Baby, who wasn’t gavel-trained yet, started out onto the floor; Mamma dashed after him and brought him back under the table.

The place looked like a courtroom again.  The tables were ranged in a neat row facing the bench, and the witness chair and the jury box were back where they belonged.  The ashtrays and the coffee urn and the ice tubs for beer and soft drinks had vanished.  It looked like the party was over.  He was almost regretful; it had been fun.  Especially for seventeen Fuzzies and a Baby Fuzzy and a little black-and-white kitten.