Willy-Nilly

Recently there stood in the dock of the Old Bailey, famed London law court, one more tatterdemalion derelict of the thousands that file in and out of that hall of Justice every year. His furtive, watery eye, his mumbled speech and disconsolate countenance marked him for a waif indeed. He was penniless, friendless, and without an advocate.

But good English custom lets no man, however sunken in estate, go undefended at his trial by law. The judge told the prisoner to look about and choose whom he would from the gathering of barristers that lounged there in genteel boredom waiting for their clients' names to be read off. Whom he chose would have to serve him, willy-nilly.

Passing by eager youngsters, mournful oldsters, bead-eyed Jews and dour Scots, the prisoner brought his dull gaze to rest upon a distinguished figure of some three-score years.

"Hi'll tike that un," growled the prisoner.

Over "that un," as he recognized the trap in which he had permitted himself to be caught, there passed dismay, mortification and sheepish acquiescence. Commanded by custom "that un" had no course but to accept the derelict's defense and look forward to the official fee of -L-1. "That un" was no less a personage than Sir Travers Humphreys, Recorder of Chichester, Senior Counsel to the Treasury at Central Criminal Court (Old Bailey) since 1916, one of London's most eminent attorneys. Ordinarily Sir Travers' fees never think of halting short of four figures.