The constable, who was one of those seated on the stocks, removed a straw from between his lips, spat at the pillory post, much as if he were shooting at a mark, and remarked, “I calkerlate yer waan’t at the meetin’, squire?”
”Not I,” averred Mr. Meredith.
“Yer see,” explained the constable, “they voted that there should n’t be no more of the king’s law till we wuz more sartin of the king’s justice, an’ that any feller as opposed that ere resolution wuz ter be held an enemy ter his country an’ treated as such. That ain’t the persition I’m ambeetious ter hold, an’ so I did n’t open the court-house.”
“What?” gasped Mr. Meredith. “Are ye all crazy?”
“Mebbe we be,” spoke up one of the listeners, “but we ain’t so crazy by a long sight as him as issued that.” The speaker pointed at the king’s proclamation, and then, either to prove his contempt for the symbol of monarchy, or else to show the constable how much better shot he was, he neatly squirted a mouthful of tobacco juice full upon the royal arms.
“And where are the other justices?” demanded the squire, looking about as if in search of assistance.
“The old squire an’ the paason wuz at the meetin’, an’ I guess they knew it ’ud only be wastin’ time to attend this pertiklar sittin’ of the court.”
“Belza take them!” cried the squire. “They’re a pair of cotswold lions, and I’ll tell it them to their faces,” he added, alluding to a humorous expression of the day for a sheep. “Here I have a rebellious servant, and I’d like to know how I’m to get warrant to flog him, if there is to be no court. Dost mean to have no law in the land?”
“I guess,” retorted Bagby, “that if the king won’t regard the law, he can’t expect the rest of us to, noways. What ’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and if there ever was a gander it’s him,”—a mot which produced a hearty laugh from the crowd.
“As justice of the peace I order ye to open this door, constable,” called the squire.