“Can you tell me where Colonel Owen lives—the man that owns the horse?”
“You ought to know that!”
“Is there any lawyer in this village?”
“Yes, there's two, an old man and a young one.”
“I should like to see one of them. Can you ask one of them to come here?”
“It's a leetle out of my way,” suggested Constable Stokes.
The constable pocketed with alacrity the half-dollar our hero tendered him, and said briskly. “I'll send him right off.”
“I shay,” interjected the tramp, “send me a lawyer, too.”
“The same man will do for you,” replied the constable. “A lawyer won't do you no good, though.”
“We're victims of tyrannical 'pression!” said the tramp gloomily. “What are you in for, young feller?”