“Prisoner at the Bar-r-r: Ye have brootally assaulted a peaceful citizen (not more than half-agin as big as yerself). Ye have bate him to a poolp (an' him but a scant tin years younger, an with a repitation for bein' a roughneck—with women and childer). Ye have haff murdered him (an' take shame to yerself ye didn't do th' other haff). Because of yer youth an' inexperience (I mane yer age an the wallop ye carry) I will let ye off light with a fine of fifty dollars (an if ye'll sind me word when yer goin' to operate again I'll remit the fine). Nixt Ca-ase!”
For a culprit who had got off easy, Mr. Miles Morse presented far from a cheerful appearance when Molly Dunstan presented herself on the following morning. Molly exhibited strange and inexplicable symptoms, flushing and paling, finding no place for her regard to rest, until she discovered that Miles Morse was much worse confused than herself. Thereupon, after the manner of women, she became quite composed and easy. Through breakfast he was very silent. After lingering over his coffee to an unwonted degree, he finally arose, with an air of great determination, said “Well” in what was meant to be a businesslike tone, walked briskly to the door, then turned and stood in the most awkward unease.
“The house won't be like a home without you,” said he desolately.
“Won't it?” said Molly.
“You'll be going out to your own place very soon now?”
“Suppose I don't want to.”
“It's all arranged. I've been talking to Mr. and Mrs. Staten.”
“Have ye now!” said Molly with a mutinous uptilt of the chin.
“She's arranged for you to get your own kind of work out there.”
“I like my own job here.”