The lantern was passed to him, and taking it, he walked along the line of cows. He saw several with sores more or less developed. One or two he saw in the advanced stages of the disease, where the tail had begun to rot away. The other men followed him on his tour of inspection, and whispered together nervously. It did not take Peter long to examine all he wanted to see. Handing back the lantern at the door, he said: “Give me your names.” The men looked nonplussed, and shifted their weights uneasily from leg to leg. “You,” said Peter, looking at the man who had interfered with him. “Wot do yer want with it?” he was asked. “That’s my business. What’s your name?” “John Tingley.” “Where do you live?” “310 West 61st Street.” Peter obtained and wrote down the names and addresses of the trio. He then went to the “office” of the company, which was now opened. “Is this an incorporated company?” he asked of the man tilted back in a chair. “No,” said the man, adding two chair legs to terra firma, and looking at Peter suspiciously. “Who owns it?” Peter queried. “I’m the boss.” “That isn’t what I asked.” “That’s what I answered.” “And your name is?” “James Coldman.” “Do you intend to answer my question?” “Not till I know your business.” “I’m here to find out against whom to get warrants for a criminal prosecution.” “For what?” “The warrant will say.” The man squirmed in his chair. “Will you give me till to-morrow?” “No. The warrant is to be issued to-day. Decide at once, whether you or your principal, shall be the man to whom it shall be served.” “I guess you’d better make it against me,” said the man. “Very well,” said Peter. “Of course you know your employer will be run down, and as I’m not after the rest of you, you will only get him a few days safety at the price of a term in prison.” “Well, I’ve got to risk it,” said the man. Peter turned and walked away. He went down town to the Blacketts. “I want you to carry the matter to the courts,” he told the father. “These men deserve punishment, and if you’ll let me go on with it, it shan’t cost you anything; and by bringing a civil suit as well, you’ll probably get some money out of it.” Blackett gave his assent. So too did Patrick Milligan, and “Moike” Dooley. They had won fame already by the deaths and wakes, but a “coort case” promised to give them prestige far beyond what even these distinctions conferred. So the three walked away proudly with Peter, and warrants were sworn to and issued against the “boss” as principal, and the driver and the three others as witnesses, made returnable on the following morning. On many a doorstep of the district, that night, nothing else was talked of, and the trio were the most envied men in the neighborhood. Even Mrs. Blackett and Ellen Milligan forgot their grief, and held a joint _soirée_ on their front stoop. “Shure, it’s mighty hard for Mrs. Dooley, that she’s away!” said one. “She’ll be feeling bad when she knows what she’s missed.”