“Don’t be rash,” he said in kindly tones. “His Honor will tell you my colleague is standing at the back door. Is it not so, Judge?”
“Yes-es!” stammered the judge.
There was a silence thick as custard.
“I will not insist on the formality of putting up your hands, gentlemen; as the poet hath it:
He produced two cannon too quick for eye-sight. [Page 154]
“‘If the red slayer think he slays
Or the slain think he is slain,
They little know my subtle ways.’...”
“Now, I know your subtle ways, being aware your guns are loaded with blanks. I offer in evidence that no one should try to reload. My colleague will proceed to testify. Doc,” he called across us, “try the clock hanging over my head—hold its little hands as they lay!”
“Ker-bang—two shots.” A bullet-hole appeared neatly in the center of the III and another just inside and over the IX. The time was 9:15.
“Fair—fair!” said the missionary, gently chiding. “My brother’s left hand can’t do just what his right doeth. Still, I’m satisfied with my pupil.”