The law should be a great and wise
judge, humane and sympathetic. George Pollock should be able to go to
that judge and say: 'I killed Plant, because he had done me an injury
for which the perpetrator should suffer death. He was permitted to do
this because of the deficiency of the law.' And he should be able to say
it in all confidence that he would be given justice, eternal justice,
and not a thing so warped by obscure and forgotten precedents that it
fits nothing but some lawyer's warped notion of logic!"
"Whew!" whistled Bob, "what a lady of theory and erudition it is!"
Amy eyed him doubtfully, then smiled.
"I'm glad you happened along," said she. "I feel better. Now I believe
I'll be able to do something with my biscuits."
"I could do justice to some of them," remarked Bob, "and it would be the
real thing without any precedents in that line whatever."
"Come around later and you'll have the chance," invited Amy, again
addressing herself to the stove.
Still smiling at this wholesale and feminine way of leaping directly to
a despotically desired ideal result, Bob took the trail to his own camp.
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