right, who is cracking nuts, and who must be a son or nephew of our
Chairman, judging by the familiarity with which he treats latter.
Probably his uncle will flood him with briefs--and that will be called
"making his own way in the world." Pshaw!

Wine-and-dessert entertainment only lasts an hour. Forbidding Bencher
evidently feels that an hour is as much as he can possibly stand. So
we all depart, except the favoured nephew (or son), who, as I suspect,
"remains to prey" on his uncle (or father), and probably to be invited
in to the _real_ feast which no doubt the Inn worthies are enjoying
upstairs.

Next morning meet a legal friend, who asks, "When are you to be
presented at Court?"

"Presented at Court?"--I ask in surprise.

"Yes--Court of Queen's Bench--ha! ha! You'll have to go one of these
days in wig and gown to the Q.B.D., and inscribe your name in a big
book, and bow to the Judges, and come out."

"What's the good of doing that?" I want to know.

"None whatever. An old custom, that's all. A sort of legal fiction,
you know." (_Query_--If a Queen's Counsel writes a novel, isn't _that_
a real legal fiction?) "You'll feel rather like a little boy going
to a new school. Judges look at you with an air of 'I say, you new
feller, what's your name? Where do you come from? What House are
you in?--then a good kick. They can't kick you, so they glare at you
instead. Interesting ceremony. Ta, ta!"