[The magistrate leans over and parleys with his clerk.]

Jack. [Leaning over from his seat behind.] I say, Dad——­

Barthwick.  Tsst! [Sheltering his mouth he speaks to Roper.] Roper, you had better get up now and say that considering the circumstances and the poverty of the prisoners, we have no wish to proceed any further, and if the magistrate would deal with the case as one of disorder only on the part of——­

Bald constable.  HSSShh!

     [Roper shakes his head.]

Magistrate.  Now, supposing what you say and what your husband says is true, what I have to consider is—­how did he obtain access to this house, and were you in any way a party to his obtaining access?  You are the charwoman employed at the house?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, your Worship, and of course if I had let him into the house it would have been very wrong of me; and I have never done such a thing in any of the houses where I have been employed.

Magistrate.  Well—­so you say.  Now let us hear what story the male prisoner makes of it.

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.