The judge⁠—and he was no less person than Judge Casey, famous and celebrated in song and story for his speedy trials and the human quality of his justice⁠—waved a short, hairy, muscular arm toward the dining room.

“Feed them first, Mike.”

We followed our leader into the dining room and all sat at one big table where we had a substantial breakfast. When the last bum had his fill, we marched back to the barroom and lined up against the wall again.

“All ready, judge,” said Mike.

The judge stopped dealing drinks and pronounced sentence. His voice sounded tired, weary; there was a note of kindness in it.

“Oh, well, Mike, lave, the big bums take tin days, and the little bums five.”