“Divil a bit.”
“When must you pay the fine?”
“Oi’m out on bail till to-morrow, sir.”
“Then leave these papers with me, and come in about this time.”
Peter studied his wall for a bit after his new client was gone. He did not like either saloon-keepers or law-breakers, but this case seemed to him to have—to have—extenuating circumstances. His cogitations finally resulted in his going to Justice Gallagher’s court. He found the judge rather curt.
“He’s been up here three times in as many months, and I intend to make an example of him.”
“But why is only he arrested, when every saloon keeper in the neighborhood does the same thing?”
“Now, sir,” said the judge, “don’t waste any more of my time. What’s the next case?”
A look we have mentioned once or twice came into Peter’s face. He started to leave the court, but encountered at the door one of the policemen whom he was “friends with,” according to the children, which meant that they had chatted sometimes in the “angle.”
“What sort of a man is Dennis Moriarty?” he asked of him.