"It was pegged, throwed, fired," shouted Sandy, and his club just touched Judith's sleeve, electrifying her into open indignation.
"Keep that—stick down," ordered the chief, while Judith's indignation subsided.
How pretty she looked standing there in those sordid surroundings! Contrast, the maker of all standards, outlined the tall dark-haired girl in her brilliant red junior cap and definite red sweater, like the central figure in some old time country picture, where urchins and queer men gave her the middle of the stage and plagiarized the scene, "At the Bar of Justice."
"You caught this here flying joo-ell-ry?" demanded the chief.
"Oh no, oh no," parried Sandy. "Someone else caught that," and he waddled his head from side to side in amplification.
"Who? Where is it?" The chief was not playing the gallery now.
"The propri-e-tor of that there beauty institooshun has it, and it's hers. It had her name and address on it."
A sneering titter from the audience followed that foolish statement.
Old Sour Sandy had balled things up considerably this time.
"Then what's the charge and who makes it?" shouted and rapped Chief
Hadfield.
"Loiterin' and disturbing and I make th' charge!" Sandy put his cap on in the excitement of that speech but quickly yanked it off again in respect to the court.