"Yep."
"Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug.
Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, I rise to make a statement. I won't interfere with the dignity of the court, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after the meeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay. Understand?"
"You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with the caulking-mallet.
"And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor order you preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, and why don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of you afterwards, you potwolloper!"
"You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped the mallet, and sprang to his feet.
Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between and held them apart.
"Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemly exhibitions. And remember there are ladies present."
The two men grunted and subsided, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, we understand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will you please tell the court what you know of his general character?"
Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's an extremely quarrelsome disposition—"