“No, I’ve done that already.”
“Now, Henry, that sounds too conceited to be like you.”
“Oh, no, it’s only a fact. But here––I’ll run through the list for you. Have me pinched under the ordinance? Can’t be done; the City 216 Attorney’s said so, and I saw the Chief of Police was in on it. Get an injunction? You can’t do that either, because––”
“Why can’t we?”
“Because I’ve got one already.”
Mr. Mix’s jaw dropped. “What’s that? How could you––”
“Oh, I got Bob Standish––just as a citizen tax-payer––to apply for a temporary injunction yesterday, to test it out. It’s being argued this morning. Don’t you want to come over and hear it? If I lose, I won’t open next Sunday at all; and if I win, then the League can’t get an injunction later.... What else can you do?”
“We may have other cards up our sleeves,” said Mr. Mix, stiltedly.
“Just the place I’d have looked for ’em,” said Henry, but his tone was so gentle and inoffensive that Mr. Mix only stared.
He shook hands with Henry, and hurried over to the Court House, where he arrived just in time to hear the grey-haired jurist say, dispassionately: “Motion denied.”