Punch (94.1888)

March 24, 1888.] PUNCH, OB THE LONDON CHABIVABI. 141

Too Late

fob gobdon.

— Fa Istaff
[put of office).

— " Ah ! no
more of that,
Ma'am, an
thou loYest
me."

Sunday
1 Recreation.

-Chess i's
: undoubtedly
the G-ame
[for Sundays,
I as it cannot
(possibly he
I played with-

'ALL THE APPLIANCES AND MEANS TO BOOT." j?.)1^ two

Shakspeare. \ -""Shops.

VOCES POPULI.

AT A LEGAL LUNCHEON-BAR.
Scene—A Restaurant in the neighbourhood of the Courts of Justice.
At the Bar. members of both branches of the Legal Profession
discovered lunching on hiqh stools ; behind Bar. bustling staff of
barmaids, kitchen-maids, and small boys in white caps, super-
intended by; Energetic Manager, of a cheerfully familiar
disposition.

Voices behind the Bar. Small roast beef cut lean, Robert ! . . .
When does that mutton mean to osme ? . . . plates, Jenny, look
alive there! . . . Were you the dumpling, Sir ? Oh, the sausage
and plain ; I beg your pardon! . . . More prongs!

[27iis last from the Manager—a pleasing synecdoche for forks.

Solicitors' Clerks before the Bar. Can't let vou have that further
abstract yet, but it's being attended to . .*. We ought to have had
notice of that last affidavit they filed! . . . Costs on higher scale . . .
Not the practice to give copy affidavit without the jurat—told 'em so!
Notice to produce all their books for last sixteen years, &c, &o.
Shower just ceasing. Enter a Surly Man, umbrella-less and drenched.

Barmaid (to him, pleasantly). The rain has been coming down,
Sir, hasn't it ?

The Surly Man. Never saw it coming up—did you ? _

[Barmaid subsides, pouting.

The Energetic Manager [to S. M.). Good morning, Sir, you've
brought the sunshine in with you! (Savage growl from the S. M.)
But that (politely) I'm sure you ahvays do! New or stale bread,
Sir ? (Presenting plate with two squares of bread.) Stale is this chap.
Let me see (with the air of a man who studies all his customers' little
peculiarities), it's cawfee you like with your little lunch, isn't it, Sir ?

The S. M. Coffee ? No ! it's poison to me. Stout!

The E. M. Stout, of course it is! You shaU'.have it, Sir! (As if it
was a rare and costly beverage ; but he wouU search the universe to
procure a drop or two.) Oh, you shall have it!
Enter a Young Barrister with a Country Client. The Young
Barrister has just lost his first case in Court, and would much
rather not lunch, but is anxious not to offend his Client, who, so
far, has " taken it very well—considering."

The Country Client (with a sigh). Weill I did think the Court
would have been with us—but there, I suppose it can't be helped.

[He has been saying this for the last ten minutes.

The Young Barrister (for the twentieth time). You—you can never
tell beforehand what view the Bench is going to take. (As if he had
had years of experience.) I did my best. (A little defiantly, in faint
hope of forcing a compliment.)

The C. C. (with rather offensive magnanimity). Oh, I'm not
blaming you, my hoy—though (he has been trying to keep from
saying this ever since the Court rose) it was a pity you gave the other
side that opening by re-examining as you did. Didn't you see that
note I passed up from the well ? ; ■

The Y. B. (not liking this). Which i You passed up such a lot,
you know 1

The C. C. I wish you had paid more attention to them—I know
that:' Well, never mind, I do think Allabie, Q.C., might have
found time to look in, instead of leaving you to fight it alone. I told
Staple and Yekttlam I must have a leading brief given—and this
is the result! By the way, that was a smart young fellow against
you—know who he is ?

The Y. B. (with a pang of jealousy). Oh, I don't know. (With
affected carelessness.) Some Common Law fellow, I believe. (After
pause—more candidly.) Pbisk, his name is.

The C. C. Yery sharp the way he took you up oyer the registra-

tion point—why, bless my soul! (with a pleased recognition)—he s
coming in now. (Enter Mr. Pbisk, with a jaunty self-satisfied air,
and an eye-glass ; the C. C. makes room for him with marked defer-
ence, while the Y. B. assumes a stony abstraction.) Allow me, Sir,
we've met before to-day— Potter v. Kettleby, y' know—we can
afford to shake hands over it now, eh ?

Prisk. To be sure. You acted for the plaintiff, didn't you ? Oh,
it was a walk over for us—you hadn't a leg to stand on!

The C. C. I don't know that. I was strongly advised to rely on

"lHtjgger and Mugger"-

Prisk. Cuts both ways, that case. I put that to the judge—then
your own witness—what was his name ? Puddleby, did for you;
that answer I got out of him on the re-examination—that gave me
all I wanted! _

The Y. B. (who has been listening to all this on the other side of
his Client, and thinks it time to strike in and change the subject).
Are you—a—going back to Yokelford this afternoon ?

The C. C. [testily). Eh, what? Oh, forgot you were there!
Going back ? Yes, yes, of course! What is tfiere to do here, now ?
(Turns to Mr. Pbisk in a marked manner.) Yes, I am glad to have
this opportunity of telling you, Sir, how very much struck I was
with the way you conducted your case. I may say so, now it's all
over. I can recognise ability (with a disparaging glance at the Y. B.),
when I do happen to come across it!

Prisk (nonchalantly). Delighted to hear you say so—hard-fought
case— er—(recognises the Y. B., and thinks he can afford to be
generous)—on both sides. (To Attendant.) Here! I said mutton.

The C. C. Well, we had a good case—on paper. I suppose Mr.—
er—Pbisk, thank you! I suppose you don't confine yourself to
any particular class of practice ?

Prisk. Bless you, no! Take anything that comss in my way-
trouble you to pass the salt.

The C. C. (pompously). Ah, just so, I shall remember that—
Prisk, and your address is in the Law List, I daresay ?

Prisk. Ought to be—been there fsr six years now. (To Barmaid.)
Get me some cheese and butter, will you ?

The C. C. (to the Y. B.). You don't seem to be getting on—I must
be off soon.

The Y. B. (feeling forlorn and neglected). They haven't brought
me my chop yet (plaintively).

The C. C. (patronising ly). You should assert yourself more—
that's the way to get on in this life. (To the E. M.) When is this
gentleman to have his chop P

The E. M. Waiting for your chop, Sir ? Sorry you didn't mention
it, Sir—work of time, a chop is, Sir. (Loudly.) Ktre—'urry up that
grill-chop there ! (The cry is taken up, and carried down into the far
distance, until the Y. B. feels thoroughly ashamed of his chop, and
wishes he could sneak off and desert it. _ The E. M. to small bay with
plate.) Roast beef and Yorkshire—right! there's a good bo-oy!
Now, then, my dear, don't take all the room there ! (Putting his hand
on Barmaid's shoulder and turning her round, which she appears to
resent privately.)

The C. C. Well, I can't stay here all day. Good day, Mr. Pbisk,
glad to have made your acquaintance—hope we shall find ourselves
on the same side, next time ! By-by, Timhebman ! (To Y. B.)
[Exit C. O, leaving Tihmebman and Pbisk side by side. T.
pretends not to see P.
Prisk (with a nod to T.). Thought I knew your face. Rum old
boy, that Client of yours !

T. (bitterly). He won't be a Client of mine much longer!
P. (easily). Oh, I don't know—you didn't do so badly. If you'd
taken the line I thought you were going to take, I should have been
up a tree. (Consolingly.) Everyone muffs,it at starting, and but
for-

T. (not very far from choking). Thank you—but it isn't muoh
good discussing all that over again !

P. (with exasperating good temper). Not a hit—if you don't like
it! Mistake to carry personal feeling into a case, though,—you '11
find that out when you've been at it a little longer 1

[He pays his bill and strolls out, leaving the Y. B. to cherish
wild thoughts of " chucking-up " the Bar, and going in for
ranching or diamond-digging.
E. M. (returning briskly). Your chop at last, Sir! (in a tone of
deep mystery and confidential congratulation, as if it didn't occur
every day), and a hot potato, Sir!

[Ln his vivacity he slams the dishes on the counter with a force
that upsets the Y. B.'s beer into his plate, and shoots a very
floury potato into his necktie.
The Y. B. (with a sense that nothing will prosper with him any
more). Oh, it doesn t matter—don't bother about it! (He smiles in a
sickly manner.)

The E. M. (noticing the smile with approval). Glad you are able
to see the merry side of it, Sir !

[Scene closes in on the Y. B. pecking dolefully at Ms chop, won-
dering what his Client is saying of him now, and wishing he
had never been born.