There I found Jimmy on the
penitents' bench, full of sparkling interest in the proceedings of
the court and in the line--a long and variegated one--of his
fellow-indictables. Farrell sat beside him, sprucely dressed but
woebegone. He wore a sort of lamp-shade, of a green colour, over his
eyes, and (as Jimmy put it) "looked the part--Prodigal Son among the
Charlottes." By some connivance--on some faked pretence, I make no
doubt, that I was his legal adviser--the police allowed Jimmy to
cross over and consult me. He informed me that the Professor had put
him up an excellent breakfast of grilled sole and devilled kidneys,
and had afterwards shown him round the laboratory. "Wonderful man,
the Professor! But you should see that dog of his he calls Billy--
hairy little yellow beast that flies into rages like a mad thing, and
then at a word crawls on its belly. Sort of beast that dies on his
master's grave, in the children's books, like any human creature."
The charge was not called on the list until 12.30 or thereabouts.
. . . They say that in England there's one law for the rich and
another for the poor.
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