"You come on down to the office, sheriff.

I want you to get at the bottom of this or have the heart out of some one." He rolled a dancing eye at Poole with the word, and Poole shrank before it.
"Breakfast! Bring us our breakfast!" bawled the prisoners.

"Breakfast!" The sheriff dealt leniently with the uproar, realizing that these were but weakling folk and, under the influence of excitement, hardly responsible.
"Brooks has been tied up all night, and is all but dead.

I'll get you something as soon as I can," he said, "on condition that you stop that hullabaloo at once.

Johnson, come down to the office." He telephoned a hurry call to a restaurant, Brooks, the jailer, being plainly incapable of furnishing breakfast.