with importance and looked monstrous grave. But nothing ever came of
these little alarms, so that gradually the inflations grew less and
less extensive. They might perhaps have ceased altogether had it not
been for this malignant zeal of Dan Anderson, formerly of Princeton,
and now come, hit or miss, to grow up with the country.

Blackman was ever ready enough for a lawsuit, forsooth pined for one.
Yet what could he do? He could not go forth and with his own hands
arrest chance persons and hale them before his own court for trial.
The sheriff, when he was in town, simply laughed at him, and told his
deputies not to mix up with anything except circuit-court matters,
murders, and more especially horse stealings. Constable there was
none; and policeman--it is to wonder just a trifle what would have
happened to any such thing as a policeman or town marshal in the valley
of Heart's Desire! In short, there was neither judicial nor executive
arm of the law in action. One may, therefore, realize the hindrances
which Dan Anderson met in getting up his lawsuit. Yet he went forward
in the attempt patiently, driven simply by ennui. He did not dream
that he was doing something epochal.

Blackman, Justice of the Peace, was sitting in the office of the
_Golden Age_ when we found him, reading the exchanges and offering
gratuitous advice to the editor. He was a shortish man, thick in body,
with sparse hair and hay-colored, ragged mustache. His face was
florid, his pale eyes protruded. He was a wise-looking man,
excellently well suited in appearance for the office which he filled.
We explained to him our errand. Gradually, as the sense of his own new
importance dawned upon him, he began to swell, apparently until he
assumed a bulk thrice that which he formerly possessed. His spine
straightened rigidly; a solemn light came into his eye; a cough that