When Walter Brown heard of the delicacy of his clerk in keeping the name of his family out of that foolish altercation, and saw the masterly summary he had made of the business confided to his hand, the bold operator in pork recognized a value in his clerk. To his remonstrances Bob said, "It's a closed account, sir, and I must pay the balances. If I let the police interfere, I shall have a dozen rows on hand, and could not manage the roughs in the yard." But, though Mr. Brown saw that he could not interfere without injuring Bob's reputation, he resolved that she who had made the quarrel should stop it. He sent the dowager, packed with her prejudices, to the police magistrate. "Hold up your hand. You swear L. B. Mason, Esq., and ---- Nettles contemplate a breach of the peace?" said the judge. "I can't swear of my own knowledge," said she. "It is incredible a nettles "--with a small _n_--"should meet a Brown," with a four-line pica _B_. And it did seem incredible to the august dowager. "Really, madam, we have nothing to found a warrant upon," said the court.--"Show the lady out, and call the next case." In fact, as decided in _Ex-parte Jones_, the right of personal redress was recognized by law in Kentucky, and an elective judiciary cared neither to ignore nor acknowledge the case. But in going out she heard a policeman make some reference to the duel in conversing with a comrade. "Of what were you speaking just now?" asked the dowager. "Of a little game between a low-down dead-beat and a gent," said the policeman. "If I understand you," said the dowager, "I am glad to find such correct feeling in men of your class." "Oh, it's so on the Force," said the man. "Short-stop is quite a favo-rite with the tip-toppers. You may ha' heerd o' him. T'other's a sort o' stool-pigeon--name Mason. They do say as a rich aunt o' his'n got him into it. Blest if she'll get much of him out of it when Nettles is done with him! Why, Nettles beats professionals!--Now, boy, you going to drive your missis' carriage, or shall I? This ain't no place to scrouge about and stare." Aunt Fanny sank back astounded. Was she a Moabitish mother who had sacrificed her nephew to a professional duellist? "Drive to Lawyer Winnett's," she said--"quick!" "Your information was sufficient," said the lawyer with that contempt the profession has for irregular police proceedings, "but the code is a bastard child of the law. If you had a warrant the officers would not execute it." "But," said the dowager, brought face to face with a family prejudice in favor of the code, "it is too horrible to suppose that peace-officers will stand coolly by and see homicide contemplated and executed without interference."