He has to quote such cases as he
can remember, and as neither his memory nor his legal knowledge is
great, he presents them all wrongly, and prematurely sits down. I
see PROSER's wrinkled countenance illumined with an exultant smile.
Just as I am moving out of Court (FIBBINS has to "move" _in_ Court),
because I am desirous of avoiding FIBBINS's wrath,--though I feel that
this _fiasco_ is more his fault than mine,--I hear the presiding judge
(the mad one) say to the Defendant's Counsel that he need not trouble
to address them. I know what _that_ means--judgment for the Defendant!
Chancing half-an-hour later to enter a Strand Restaurant, part of
which, I regret to say, is also a drinking-bar, I am startled at
beholding the identical form and features of FIBBINS himself. He
appears flushed--has two companions with him, to whom he is talking
excitedly. I hear the words--"idiot"--"jackass of a pupil"--"regular
sell"--and; but no, perhaps I had better not repeat all that I _did_
hear. I decide to seek refreshment elsewhere.
Over the subsequent scene in FIBBINS's Chambers I prefer to draw a
veil. It is sufficient to say that I was obliged to leave FIBBINS, and
thereafter received a solid half-year's instruction in the Chambers of
a learned Counsel who was not a briefless impostor.
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