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"I ain't disputin' that it's final. I ain't talkin' about law. I was mentionin' Justice." "The feller that loses is always gassin' 'bout Justice. When you win you don't think there's any flies on the Justice." "Ain't had much experience with winnin'. We all knows who wins in these yere Meetin's." "Who?" But they turned their eyes on Mr. Bonsor, over by the door.
"An' McGinty weakens," laughed the mocker behind the stove-pipe. "Bonsor jest pockets the pore dead man's cash," says McGinty, with righteous indignation, "and I've called this yer meetin' t' arbitrate the matter."
Whenever you see eighty or ninety more drunks than usual, you know there's either been a stampede or else justice has been administered." "Ain't Bonsor late?" asked someone. "No, it's a quarter of." "Why do they want Bonsor?" "His case on the docket McGinty v. Burt Bonsor, proprietor of the Gold Nugget." "If they got a row on " "If they got a row? Course they got a row. Weren't they pardners?"
Well, sir, when Bonsor gits back he decides he'd like to be the custodian o' that cash. Mentions his idee to me. I jest natchrally tell him to go to hell. No, sir, he goes to Corey over there, and gits an order o' the Court makin' Bonsor administrator o' the estate o' James Lawrence o' Noo Orleens, lately deceased. Then Bonsor comes to me, shows me the order, and demands that fifteen hundred."
"Why, 'fore this yere town was organised, when we hadn't got no Court of Arbitration to fix a boundary, or even to hang a thief, we had our 'main Push, just like we was 'Frisco." He lowered his voice, and leaned towards his Circle friend. "With Bonsor's help they 'lected Corey Judge o' the P'lice Court, and Bonsor ain't never let Corey forgit it."
"And then trust Bonsor to git even." Salaman, "the luckiest man in camp," who had come in from his valuable Little Minóok property for the night only, had to pay fifteen dollars for his mail. When he opened it, he found he had one home letter, written seven months before, eight notes of inquiry, and six advertisements.
"Minoók doesn't mind arbitrating," says Keith low to the Colonel, "but there isn't a man in camp that would give five cents for the interest of the heirs of Lawrence in that fifteen hundred dollars." A hammering on the clerk's little table announced that it was seven p.m. The Court then called for the complaint filed by McGinty v. Bonsor, the first case on the docket.
"What about the other?" inquired a Bonsorite, "the shifty Push that got you in for City Marshal?" "What's the row on to-night?" inquired the Circle City man. "Oh, Bonsor, over there, he lit out on a stampede 'bout Christmas, and while he was gone a feller by the name o' Lawrence quit the game. Fanned out one night at the Gold Nugget.
But he has not said the word, or scowled, and the troops have by extraordinary efforts and self-sacrifice carried through the work of strong battalions with weak ones but only to some extent. That is the whole story. 4th July, 1915. Imbros. Church Parade this morning. Made a close inspection of the Surrey Yeomanry under Major Bonsor.
"No, sir! we don't wait, and we don't go trav'lin'. We stay at home and call a meetin'." The door opened, and Bonsor and the bar-tender, with great difficulty, forced their way in. They stood flattened against the wall. During the diversion McGinty was growling disdainfully, "Rubbidge!" "Rubbidge? Reckon it's pretty serious rubbidge."
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