hygienic reason, if he has some scientific explanation, he may get
up a hypochondriac.


XI

The Twelve Men

The other day, while I was meditating on morality and Mr. H. Pitt, I was,
so to speak, snatched up and put into a jury box to try people.
The snatching took some weeks, but to me it seemed something sudden
and arbitrary. I was put into this box because I lived in Battersea,
and my name began with a C. Looking round me, I saw that there were
also summoned and in attendance in the court whole crowds and processions
of men, all of whom lived in Battersea, and all of whose names began
with a C.

It seems that they always summon jurymen in this sweeping
alphabetical way. At one official blow, so to speak,
Battersea is denuded of all its C's, and left to get on
as best it can with the rest of the alphabet. A Cumberpatch
is missing from one street--a Chizzolpop from another--
three Chucksterfields from Chucksterfield House; the children
are crying out for an absent Cadgerboy; the woman at the street
corner is weeping for her Coffintop, and will not be comforted.
We settle down with a rollicking ease into our seats
(for we are a bold, devil-may-care race, the C's of Battersea),
and an oath is administered to us in a totally inaudible manner
by an individual resembling an Army surgeon in his second childhood.
We understand, however, that we are to well and truly try the case