Mr. Roundjacket's hand fell.

"No--no!" he said, with a reproachful expression, "you wouldn't be so
cruel, Judge!"

"I would!" said Mr. Rushton, with a snap.

"In Chancery?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Mr. Rushton."

"Sir?"

"Are you in earnest?"

"I am, sir."

"You distinctly state that you would see my poem consigned to--"

"Chancery, sir."

"Before you would listen to it?"

"Yes, sir!"

Roundjacket gazed for a moment at the lawyer in a way which expressed
volumes. Then slowly rubbing his nose: