This, on a blue-coloured form, which a friendly policeman left one evening, when Erb was wrestling with his brief leading article, and unable to decide whether to give a touch of brightness to the column by the two lines of poetry from William Morris, and risk offending a few subscribers who looked on rhymes as frivolous, or to remain on the safer ground of prose. Erb, in his attacks on the Neckinger Road firm, had begun to feel as a fencer does who makes ingenious passes at the air, and he was so much gratified now to find that he had at last struck something, that he gave the warrant-officer something with which to purchase a drink, and had a very friendly chat with him concerning points of law. Erb had to confess he had not hitherto understood—being a man whose mind was occupied with other matters—that one had to appear at a police-court in regard to a charge of libel: the warrant-officer increased Erb’s knowledge by informing him that not only was this the case where no damages were claimed, but that the publication had only to be proved and you were at once committed to the Central Criminal Court to take your trial. “There,” said the officer with relish, “there the Grand Jury has the first go at you, see?” “They can throw out the Bill?” “They can,” admitted the other grudgingly, “but bless my soul,” with a return to cheerfulness, “they won’t in your case. Then, in what you may term due course, on comes your case. See? You can either defend yourself—” “I shall.” “You know the old saying, I s’pose?” “Never mind the old saying,” replied Erb. “Get on!” “Then, of course, if you’re fool enough to conduct your own case, you’ll be fool enough to cross-examine the witnesses for the other side.” “I shall,” said Erb. “And a fine old mess you’ll make of it,” remarked the warrant-officer, laughing uproariously. “Lord! I’d give an ounce of shag to be in court when it comes off.” “I’ll see that it comes off.” “I’ve seen some of the biggest larks when chaps have been trying to do this sort of thing on their own, that ever you can imagine. Sometimes when I’m a bit down-hearted over anything, or if the wife’s a bit aggravatin’, I just cast my mind back and—” The warrant-officer laughed again, and, taking off his helmet, mopped the inside of it with his handkerchief. “Never, I suppose,” said Erb, a little nettled by this ill-timed hilarity, “seen a man in the witness box turned thoroughly inside out?” “Not by an amateur.” “Never seen him pinned down to certain facts, never watched him being led on and on and on, until he finds that he hasn’t got a shred of a reputation, a remnant of a character, not a single white spot of innocence or—” “I like your talk, old man,” interrupted the warrant-officer, fixing on his helmet, “and I wish I could stay to hear more of it. But take care you don’t wear your face out. So long!”