“Do you know Justice Gallagher?”
“Do I? Well, I guess,” said the man.
“Will you do me the favor to go with me to his court, and get him to remit Dennis Moriarty’s fine?”
“Will I? No. I will not. Der’s too many saloons, and one less will be bully.”
“In that case,” said Peter quietly, “I suppose you won’t mind my closing yours up?”
“Wot der yer mean?” angrily inquired the man.
“If it comes to closing saloons, two can play at that game.”
“Who is yer, anyway?” The man came out from behind the bar, squaring his shoulders in an ugly manner.
“My name’s Stirling. Peter Stirling.”
The man looked at him with interest. “How’ll yer close my place?”