"That you couldn’t get ahead of him. He’ll get more than even every time. It’s the touch of Abner, all right. You might have known what a dangerous cuss he is, the old devil. Rats! Well, I declare! Ugh!"
The police court room of Glucom was seldom a busy place, and as a rule the police magistrate had little to do. A few drunks generally made up the list for the week, with an occasional family "affair" to add a little spice of excitement. It was, therefore, a welcome relief to the monotony when Abner Andrews was brought into court, and charged with assault upon the Editor of _The Live Wire_.
Abner felt keenly the position in which he was placed as he stood in the dock and listened to the words of the sergeant who had arrested him. He realized how serious was the nature of the charge against him, and he clutched the rail of the dock firmly with both hands and carefully studied the face of the magistrate. He did not regret what he had done, neither was he much concerned about himself. It was of those at home he thought, for he knew how badly they would feel, and how they would worry when they heard of his arrest. He was anxious, too, about his wife. He surmised that something unusual had happened to her, otherwise that scurrilous article would not have appeared in the paper.
"You have heard the charge, Mr. Andrews?" It was the magistrate now speaking. "Do you plead ’Guilty’ or ’Not Guilty’?"
"Not guilty, ye’r Honor," was the prompt reply.
"Not guilty!" the magistrate repeated in surprise. "Why do you say that? Didn’t you make an assault upon Joseph Preston this morning?"
"Ye bet I did, and gave him a lickin’ he won’t fergit to the end of his days."
"Well, then, if you acknowledge all that, why do you plead ’Not guilty’?"
"But I’m not guilty. I don’t feel one bit guilty. My conscience doesn’t bother me any more’n if I’d beat up a skunk that was after my chickens. Joe got jist what was comin’ to him. Somebody had to do it sooner or later, and that’s all there is about it."
If it had been anyone else than Aimer Andrews the magistrate would have remanded him at once. But in truth he felt a certain sympathy for the prisoner, as he well knew that Joe Preston had merely received a just punishment. He himself had often mentally vowed vengeance upon the editor for his mean attacks upon him as police magistrate. But he had the dignity of his position to maintain, and it would not do for him to give expression to his feelings, especially in the court room, of all places.