A quiet voice was heard from the other end of the court-room, and a deathly silence fell on the assemblage.
“Suspend for a moment, gentlemen, if you please. Mr. Sheriff, bring that person to the bar of the Court.”
The crowd parted as if by magic, and the Sheriff led his drunken constituent to the bar, where his befuddled brain took in just enough of the situation to make him quiet enough. The Judge bent his sternest look on him until he quailed.
“Have you no more sense of propriety than to disturb a court of justice in the exercise of its high function?”
Turkle, however, was too drunk to understand this. He tried to steady himself against the bar.
“I ain't is-turbed no Court of function, and anybody 't says so, Jedge, iz a liar.” He dragged his hand across his mouth and tried to look around upon the crowd with an air of drunken triumph, but he staggered and would have fallen had not the Sheriff caught and supported him.
The Judge's eyes had never left him.
“Mr. Sheriff, take this intoxicated creature and confine him in the county gaol until the expiration of the term. The very existence of a court of justice depends upon the observance of order. Order must be preserved and the dignity of the Court maintained.”
There was a stir—half of horror—throughout the court-room. Put a man in that jail just for being tight!
Then the Sheriff on one side and his deputy on the other, led the culprit out, now sufficiently quiet and half whimpering. A considerable portion of the crowd followed him.