Jones. [Who leans with his arms on the dock behind, speaks in a slow, sullen voice.] Wot I say is wot my wife says.  I ’ve never been ‘ad up in a police court before, an’ I can prove I took it when in liquor.  I told her, and she can tell you the same, that I was goin’ to throw the thing into the water sooner then ’ave it on my mind.

Magistrate.  But how did you get into the house?

Jones.  I was passin’.  I was goin’ ’ome from the “Goat and Bells.”

Magistrate.  The “Goat and Bells,”—­what is that?  A public-house?

Jones.  Yes, at the corner.  It was Bank ‘oliday, an’ I’d ’ad a drop to drink.  I see this young Mr. Barthwick tryin’ to find the keyhole on the wrong side of the door.

Magistrate.  Well?

Jones. [Slowly and with many pauses.] Well—–­I ’elped ’im to find it—­drunk as a lord ‘e was.  He goes on, an’ comes back again, and says, I ‘ve got nothin’ for you, ‘e says, but come in an’ ’ave a drink.  So I went in just as you might ’ave done yourself.  We ’ad a drink o’ whisky just as you might have ’ad, ’nd young Mr. Barthwick says to me, “Take a drink ’nd a smoke.  Take anything you like, ’e says.”  And then he went to sleep on the sofa.  I ’ad some more whisky—­an’ I ’ad a smoke—­and I ‘ad some more whisky—­an’ I carn’t tell yer what ’appened after that.

Magistrate.  Do you mean to say that you were so drunk that you can remember nothing?

Jack. [Softly to his father.] I say, that’s exactly what——­

Barthwick.  TSSh!

Jones.  That’s what I do mean.

Magistrate.  And yet you say you stole the box?

Jones.  I never stole the box.  I took it.

Magistrate. [Hissing with protruded neck.] You did not steal it—­ you took it.  Did it belong to you—­what is that but stealing?

Jones.  I took it.

Magistrate.  You took it—­you took it away from their house and you took it to your house——­

Jones. [Sullenly breaking in.] I ain’t got a house.

Magistrate.  Very well, let us hear what this young man Mr.—­Mr.
Barthwick has to say to your story.

     [Snow leaves the witness-box.  The bald constable beckons jack,
     who, clutching his hat, goes into the witness-box.  Roper moves
     to the table set apart for his profession.]

Swearing clerk.  The evidence you give to the court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.  Kiss the book.

     [The book is kissed.]

Roper. [Examining.] What is your name?

Jack. [In a low voice.] John Barthwick, Junior.

     [The clerk writes it down.]