“There’s no more than six left out of the first clutch,” said Mrs. Joyce. “There was eleven hatched out, but sure the rats got the rest of them.” “I’d be glad,” said Joyce, “if you’d fatten them six, and you needn’t spare the yellow meal. It’ll be worth your while to have them as good as you can.” A month later the case of Joyce v. Flanagan came on in the County Court. Mr. Madden had hammered the original story of the wall, the heifer, the pigs and the potatoes, into shape. It sounded almost plausible as Mr. Madden told it in his opening remarks. But he had very little hopes that it would survive the handling of Mr. Ellis, a young and intelligent lawyer, who was acting for Flanagan. Joyce cheerfully confirmed every detail of the story on oath. He was unshaken by Mr. Ellis’ cross-examination, chiefly because the judge constantly interfered with Mr. Ellis and would not allow him to ask the questions he wanted to ask. Flanagan and his witnesses did their best, but the judge continued to make things as difficult as he could for their lawyer. The matter, when all the evidence was heard, appeared tangled and confused, a result far beyond Mr. Madden’s best expectations. He had feared that the truth might emerge with disconcerting plainness. Then an amazing thing happened. The judge took Joyce’s view of the circumstances and decided in his favour. Mr. Ellis gasped. Flanagan swore audibly and was silenced by a policeman. Joyce left the court with a satisfied smile. “Well,” said Mr. Madden, a little later, “you’ve won, but I’m damned if I know how it happened. I never went into court with a shakier case.” “I shouldn’t wonder,” said Joyce, “but it might have been the ducks that did it. I sent him six, your honour, six, and as fat as any duck ever you seen.” “Good Lord!” said Mr. Madden. “After all I said to you--and--but, good heavens, man! He can’t have got them. If he had----” “He got them right enough,” said Joyce, “for I left them at the door of the hotel myself, with a bit of a note, saying as how I hoped he’d take a favourable view of the case that would be before him to-day, and I told him what the case was, so as there’d be no mistake--Joyce v. Flanagan was what I wrote, in a matter of trespass and assault, and abusive language.” “Well,” said Mr. Madden, “all I can say is that if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes what happened in that court to-day I wouldn’t have believed it. To think that the judge, of all men----” “It was Flanagan’s name and not my own,” said Joyce, “that I signed at the bottom of the note. ‘With the respectful compliments of Patrick Joseph Flanagan, the defendant,’ was what I wrote, like as if it was from him that the ducks came.” “I’d never have thought of it,” said Mr. Madden. “Joyce, it’s you and not me that ought to be a lawyer. Lawyer! That’s nothing. You ought to be a Member of Parliament. Your talents are wasted, Joyce. Go into Parliament You’ll be a Cabinet Minister before you die.” THE END