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Updated: June 25, 2025
If you have wives you will know what it is like for lots of us; only some is more nervous than others. I swear to you, sirs, I could not help it ?" Again the little man flung out his hand, his whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same sensation as when he drove his car over a dog "Misters the jury, I hope you may never in your lives feel as I've been feeling."
His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips out till they touched his moustache. Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation as if he had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. He mastered it, and said: "That jury are a rum lot." His wife's eyelids flickered. "I wish women sat on juries." "Why?" "It would be an experience."
They shoot deserters at the front, and we let this fellow off. I'd hang the cur." Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute. "Haven't you any feeling for others?" he wanted to say. "Can't you see that this poor devil suffers tortures?"
"I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry got his leg through the skylight." Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss. "It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the skin. And we've been making swabs I made seventeen, Mummy made thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital. Did you put many men in prison?" Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat.
But as if brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes. Want of his wife! queer excuse that for trying to put it out of his power ever to see her again! Why! Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than no bread. Not many of that neurotic type in the Army thank Heaven!
Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of remarks; and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the jury's withdrawing room, hearing the voice of the man with hair like an Irish terrier's saying: "Didn't he talk through his hat, that little blighter!"
The prisoner passed on down the stairs, and vanished. Mr. Bosengate went out and across the market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car. The sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in the garden. He brought the car out, and was about to start the engine, when someone passing said: "Good evenin'. Seedy-lookin' beggar that last prisoner, ain't he?
Bosengate was not sorry for the excuse to get out again. Though all was so pleasant, he felt oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his pipe, began to move about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the greenfly; in war-time one was never quite idle! And suddenly he said: "We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes." His wife looked up from a rose. "What for?" "Attempted suicide."
Their first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity for withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third case was called. The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention. But what a weedy-looking specimen! This prisoner had a truly nerveless pitiable dejected air. If he had ever had a military bearing it had shrunk into him during his confinement.
Bosengate would think mechanically: 'Another of those poor devils! Wonder if we've had his case before us! Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he made his way leisurely over to the court.
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