"My Lord, your injunction to me is unnecessary; indeed, my Lord, I lack all training enabling me to sing, I am thankful to say, but what is more to the point, my Lord, I almost lack the necessary self-control to read these seditious words unmoved by indignation. However, my Lord, I will make an effort." Counsel reads: "'Oh, my poor tender feet.'" (Titters in Court.) _His Lordship_. "Well, well, that is harmless enough, the Griffin complained of that, you remember." _Counsel_. "My Lord, I know nothing of the Griffin, and care less whether he complained or what he complained of, but, my Lord, it is I who complain, and rightly so, when the majesty of the law of England is mocked at. Listen, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to the following lines, and their harmful wickedness-- "Of what use are England's laws Unless they protect my claws, And keep me warm in the street? What snuffy old Judge in Court, Ever gives my poor feet a thought; Ever thinks of the snows and frosts, Or adds up my bill of costs?" (Titters in Court from the juniors.) "There, my Lord," thundered Counsel, "can any one hear this iniquitous document unmoved, these wantonly wicked lines mocking alike at Law and Order, even at your Lordship's own almost sacred calling." _His Lordship_. "A highly offensive and seditious document; impound it, Mr. Dreadful, and continue your examination of witnesses, please; time goes on." "Now, sir," exploded Mr. Dreadful, "the Court, having with shame listened to your ribald effusion, I will ask you what you had to drink upon the night you and the Lord Mayor were found wandering under extraordinary circumstances in Trafalgar Square?" "To drink--I personally? Nothing." "What did you have in the house, sir, at the time?" "Oh, the usual things." "Don't equivocate, sir; how does the Court know what you may consider usual in your ill-regulated household. What did the Lord Mayor partake of during the period he was in your company, in your rooms, before going out to chase a lady who was under the impression she was a Russian dancer--round Trafalgar Square, and before proceeding to play bo-peep with one of the lions, placed in that Square to ornament it,--what, I ask, sir, did the Lord Mayor partake of by way of refreshment?" "Oh, two tiny glasses of Creme-de-Menthe." _Counsel_ (triumphantly). "I knew it; at last, my Lord, we have the mystery explained. The mystery of the Lion's green eyes, the strangeness of the Lord Mayor's attitude, the strangeness of his speech, his dress, all due, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to Creme-de-Menthe! My Lord, that one phrase explains this whole mystery, and with it I finish my statement of this case, my Lord, finish it with those three, deadly, green, significant words--Creme-de-Menthe." Whereupon, to everybody's relief, the pompom explosions of Mr. Dreadful ceased. The last shell had been fired, followed by the usual whistles, and he sat down.