"What do you say, Tom?" Norman asked.
The old miner glared at the last culprit and his grim mouth tightened:
"Wall, you kin do as ye please, but any man that'll abuse a hoss will commit murder. I'd put the fust one in the cow lot to shovellin' compost. This one I'd quietly lynch—no public rumpus about it—jest take 'im down by the beach, hang 'im to one of them posts on the pier, shoot 'im full of holes, and drop 'im into the sea to be sure he don't come back to life."
Norman conferred with Barbara a moment and rendered the decision:
"Mr. Foreman, the first man is transferred from the field machinery to the compost-heap in the barnyard. The second man who disabled the horses will assist in cleaning the sewers. Their wages will remain the same as before."
A round of applause greeted this decision.
The Bard renewed his attack with unusual zeal. Standing before the court and shaking his long hair he cried:
"At last the climax of tyranny! Two comrades condemned without a jury and without defense! I congratulate you. In one day you have established an aristocracy of filth and created a penal colony without a hearing or appeal. We are making progress."
The old miner grunted, Barbara smiled tenderly at Norman, and the court adjourned.