Fantasy fiction; London (England) -- Juvenile fiction
_Counsel_ (hastening to explain). "The Lord Mayor, my Lord. I asked
the witness did he consider the Lord Mayor sober upon the night they
met."
_Witness_. "Yes, he was sober enough, but I think he was balmy, and I
shall always think he was balmy."
_Counsel_. "Thank you, that is sufficient; you can stand down."
Cissie Laurie, upon being called, went skittishly into the witness box,
curtseyed to the Court, and blew a kiss to the Judge.
His Lordship glared at the lady in shocked amazement.
Upon being questioned, Mrs. Laurie confided that most of her early life
had been passed playing in Pantomimes, therefore she had always been
fond of dancing. At the present time she kept a lodging-house for
theatricals, and the only chance she had of indulging in her old and
favourite pastime seemed to be to dance attendance upon these lodgers.
"Never mind what you do indoors," suggested Counsel. "I want to know
what you do out of doors, what you did out of doors on the particular
night in question when you met the Lord Mayor of London."
"Well, I felt young and girlish," confessed Cissie. "The first floor
back and the second floor front had both gone out, and the house seemed
dull with no lights and nobody in it."
"Never mind about the house or the lighting of it," interrupted
Counsel. "You went out for a walk in the streets of London."
"When I got to Trafalgar Square," continued Cissie, "I felt skittish,
thoughtless and jolly, and I could 'ave declared he laughed at me and
then winked."
_Judge_ (interrupting). "The witness tells her story very badly. Who
laughed and winked at her? The Lord Mayor?"
_Counsel_ (hastily). "No, no, my Lord, not the Lord Mayor; the Lion."
_Judge_. "Oh, well, why doesn't she say so?"
Then proceeded Cissie, heedless of all interruptions--
"I sees the wreath round his neck, and I at once thought of the Russian
dancers----"
_Judge_. "Tut, tut, tut! what has the fact of the Lord Mayor of London
having a wreath round his neck to do with the Russian ballet?"
_Counsel_ (in despair). "Not the Lord Mayor, my Lord; the Lion."
_Judge_ (testily). "Then will the witness please say the word Lion
whenever she wishes to refer to the Lion?"
_Cissy_ (imperturbably). "I don't want to refer to it no more, 'cos I
collared the wreath, and 'olding it over my 'ead I danced round the
Square, just like the posters of them Russian dancers."
_His Lordship_ (irritably). "Which particular poster was she desirous
of realising?"
_Counsel_. "My Lord, I think it must be the one of a slim and classic
youth dancing the Bacchanal with a wreath uplifted over his head."
_His Lordship_ (looking at Cissie's ample form completely filling the
witness-box, murmurs), "No, I cannot see the picture at all."
_Counsel_. "Nor I, my Lord, believe me."
Then volunteered Cissie, "He gave me two sovereigns."
_Judge_. "What, the Lion? does he give money as well as parties?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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