The barkeep at the Boogle Hollow Inn was well-known and well-liked, so when he called for the Constable to take Tim into custody, it happened in the blink of an eye. Tim was hustled off to the court chambers of the Honorable Quentin Q. Flugle, an elderly judge who had let his hobby of collecting exotic headgear turn into a bizarre obsession. Judge Flugle wore a green fez with a gold tassel when the late night hearing began. A panel of twelve jurors was fetched from the Oddball Guild, the members of which stayed up all night throwing parchment airplanes out the second story window at passersby. They also liked to drop pokes filled with cobwebs on the heads of unsuspecting strollers -- and since cobwebs are so light, they always included a large rock in the sack before dropping it out the window. Their contention was that cobwebs never hurt anyone, no matter how many concussed bodies lay on the pavement in front of their Guild Hall. They enjoyed late night jury duty, since it gave them the chance to collect bundles of cobwebs from Flugle’s ancient and undusted chambers.
Tim was brought before the Judge and the charges were read by the bailiff: “Disorderly conduct unbecoming a patron of the taproom. Possession of lumdiddles without a license. Underage origami. Overage licorice beer drinking. Suspicion of sassafras. And the willful murder of one Mudge Mudgley, late of 23 Point Taken Street, in the township of Boogle Hollow, by the administering of lumdiddles.”
While the charges were being read Judge Flugle changed into a purple turban with a long ostrich feather sticking out of it. He glared at Tim while adjusting the turban to keep it from falling over his eyes.
“How do you plead?” he barked at Tim. “Guilty or really guilty?”
“But your judgeship I had nothing to do with that man’s predicament . . . “
At this point Mudgley’s widow began howling “Oh, how can I ever live without my beloved Mudgie! He was my sole support, and us with sixteen children and ten cats!” (She had seen the large bag of gold that Tim was clutching when he was brought in.)
Judge Flugle threw gravel around the room to restore decorum. Long ago he had used a gavel to restore order in his chambers, but he found that throwing gravel was more fun.
“Quiet, everyone!” he roared. Pulling off his turban, he quickly donned a yellow beret with a red pompom on top.
Meanwhile some of the jury began winding up cobwebs from the corners of the room, and others began surreptitiously shooting onlookers with dried roddenberries blown through hollow reeds.
“Ouch!” cried a woman who had come in the hopes of seeing the Judge put on a sun bonnet, “I think I just been bit by a lumdiddle!”
“What?” bellowed the Judge. “Have you brought those poisonous beasts into my chambers, you villain!” He threw an entire crock full of gravel at Tim, who had the presence of mind to duck just in time. The pot broke on the floor, scattering gravel everywhere.
“Your judgeship” Tim cried out, “they are all safely bottled up back at the Inn! I had no hand, none at all, in that poor man’s demise. Nobody forced him to eat that pickled lumdiddle. He did it for no reason at all, except he must be a fool.”
“My Mudgie a fool?” screamed his widow, as she beat off the bailiff to come up to face the Judge. “He was the wisest man since the willow trees started to weep! This village would not be the same if it hadn’t been for him . . “
“Yea” yelled a juror, his hair whitened with cobwebs. “There’d still be some Old Camel’s Breath for the rest of us to drink!”
Since the Judge had no more gravel, having thrown his pot of it at Tim, he took off his beret to fling at the impudent juror. It missed him by a rod. He quickly put on a red and white striped beanie.
“Clear the chambers! Clear the chambers!” he screamed in a high and hoarse voice. “I won’t stand for any more hutsut like this! Bailiff, throw everyone out immediately!”
The bailiff and his assistants hustled everyone, including Tim, out onto the street, then banged the door shut in their faces. Resisting the urge to knock and demand sentencing, Tim made his way back to the Inn, where the barkeep welcomed him affably.
“I’ve just come for my things -- I’ll get out right away” Tim said warily.
“No hurry, sir. Nothing to worry your precious head about at all! Turns out that ten minutes after they took you away the dead man woke up and went back to home -- almost forgetting to pay his bill, until I reminded him with a tuning fork up his nose.”
“You mean, you mean the lumdiddle didn’t kill him?” Tim asked, incredulous.
“Not a bit of it, sir. In fact, he seemed rather healthier than before -- what with his cheeks as red as roses and the white in his hair disappeared and that sad limp of his gone. The fact of the matter is, good sir, I wanted to ask you for another one of them there bottled lumdiddles. See if it can help any of me other customers in a like manner.”
“Well . . . “ said Tim slowly, remembering how quickly the barkeep had wanted him put on trial just a few hours before. “I won’t give you another one -- but I’ll sell you one for a gold dinkum.”
“Fair enough” said the barkeep, rummaging through the pockets of his dirty white apron until he came up with a gold dinkum. “Here you are, sir. Just bring it down in the morning when you have breakfast -- I do trust you’re staying on?”
“Uh, for now. Yes. It’s been a confusing night, so if you don’t mind I’ll just bid you goodnight and go to my bed.”
And with that the barkeep handed Tim a candle and wished him cordial dreams.
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