"Clap them in irons," said the captain. "I'll have no spitting on my quarter deck."
Jesse and Dale rose to assist the constable, and for some stirring moments we were threatened with international complications. Then in his quaint slow drawl my husband obtained leave to address the magistrate. "I got an American book right here," said he, "in my hind pocket. It's called Deportment for Gents. In real high-toned society, this Honeypott claims that Amurrican gentlemen chews, but reserves the juice until they happens on a yaller dawg. Then they assists that dawg with his complexion."
The marshal stooped to pet the captain's bulldog.
"I'd help this yaller purp," said he, with a grave smile, "if I'd thicker pants."
The captain chuckled and the case went on, our visitors having "allowed that they didn't propose to chew in a court of justice."
"Prisoners," said our justice of the peace, laying his hand on the Bible, "this book contains the only law I know. I'm not here as judge or lawyer, but as one of Her Majesty's officers trusted to do the sporting thing, and to deal fairly and squarely with three innocent men who have the misfortune to be charged with crime. You've only to prove to me that you're innocent, and I have power to let you go free. But I warn you to tell the truth."
"Seems a square deal, Cap," said Whiskers.
"It is a square deal. Now, would you like to have some one of your countrymen as prisoners' friend?"
Whiskers looked reproachfully at the United States marshal who demanded his extradition, and the representative of stock associations who offered fabulous rewards for his body "dead or alive."
"Wall," he drawled, "not exactly."