and he swung upon the raised desk, "I would like to offer"
"I have already offered," cut in Mr. Mc- Gann, "I have already"
The apparition of Steve Delaney backing into the room with something bulky in his arms stopped Mr. McGann short up, and then, after the briefest moment, started him again at fullest speed.
"Get that blanket off!" he shouted at the waiting Mr. Munn.
"Hurry up with that, Steve!" bawled Mr. Binder.
Mr. Munn tugged at the blanket, but it caught on a corner; Mr. Delaney's burden jammed in the doorway. Wild pulling and heaving followed. Simultaneously there appeared in the courtroom two packing crates, one made of wood and wire, the other of wooden slats alone, both covered with railroad billing labels, both containing straw and a scattering of blue feathers; both equally declaimed over.
"The shipping box our pigeons came in!" chorused the Chibbles. "The original crate!" stormed the Basses.
Pandemonium followed.
"Look at the labels. Railroad shipping labels!"
"Consigned to T. Bass himself."
"Original!"
"Genuine!"
"Brought up by me in my wagon."
"Brought up by me in my truck."
"Look at the feathers!"
The roar died down. Hot eyed, the Basses stared at his honor. Likewise, so did the Chibbles. Silence settled over the courtroom. Ominously the two factions awaited a decision—in their favor. Grins appeared among the humorists; Wick Brown was the loser, no matter who won.
That Mr. Brown knew this was painfully apparent. He continued to shift his head from one group and its crate to the other. The judgment of Solomon, by comparison, was nothing. Solomon had neither note to meet nor unpaid money due.
"Well?" said the factions.
Wick Brown spread his lean hands on the desk. The silence deepened. And as it deepened there appeared in the doorway at the rear of the hall a little old woman in a sunbonnet, followed by a gawky youth of twelve. Slowly the little old woman entered, questioningly. She came up beside Wick Brown's desk.
"I'm Mrs. Pettigrew. I'm sorry to interrupt the court in what's probably a murder trial, but I couldn't get no information anywheres in town, everybody bein' to the trial, and so I came here. I'm looking for my pigeons. They got away from Joey Cupp yesterday afternoon, and when I got back from the junction, where I didn't have to go to the city after all, he and I started out looking for 'em, he havin' said that they'd come this way. Do any of you happen to know anything about 'em? There was twenty, all kind of dark blue."
The silence now pervading the room made the stillness that had gone before seem like the roaring of bulls.
The speaker took a step forward, looking about. "Why," she exclaimed, "there's their feathers in that box! And that other box, too!"
Silence no longer held. A cackling howl rose from those who had been content merely to be spectators, and who had not testified. The hammer of his honor rapped, just once, and a hush swooped down. The room leaned forward.
Up rose Wick Brown; a Wick Brown now ten feet high. Slowly he took in the Bassites, took in the courtroom, took in the Chibbles. With a single motion he gestured the Bass trio and the Chibble trio to step in front of the desk. And fearfully they stepped.
Wick Brown ever so slightly inclined his head. He spoke. His words were few, but proved amply sufficient.
"This has been a pleasant day. So pleasant that some of us should feel like shaking hands. Mr. Bass, Mr. Chibble."
Mr. Bass continued red, Mr. Chibble white.
"Of course," said Wick Brown, "if you want to share the pleasures of the day with the outside world, as news"
The large right hand of Mr. Bass and the small right one of Mr. Chibble started back, hitched forward, and met.
"And now, gentlemen, pigeons come high in this part of the State. Twenty-five dollars from each of you. And for every one of those who have so delightfully as attorneys and witnesses made this day pleasant, five dollars apiece. Jerry, pass around your hat."
The hat began its peregrination.
Up to one side of the desk edged Tom Bass and caught his honor's eye. "That
