The colony was as merry as if no storm impended.

We adjourned for supper.

After supper, under the evening star we marched back to the barn again, which also served as our town hall.  On the way there our talk was subdued and expectant.  Many people were disgruntled with Jones.

“Why must he do this?”

“Why can’t old Jones let well enough alone?... no community’s perfect, not even our community.”

Daniel had been put to bed, angrily objecting.

The five of us joined the flow of people toward the barn.  Penton carried a lantern.

“Jones is all right,” said Penton to me, “I like his spirit.  I’m going to stand by him, if he finds himself seriously pressed, just because the man’s spirit is a good one ... nothing mean about him ... but I know he’ll place me among the snobs and wealthy of the community.”

When all were gathered, as still as at the opening of a prayer meeting, Grahame came in, and, with his son and other friends, took seats opposite Jones.  Grahame, who had been master of ceremonies and ring master for the afternoon circus, had not changed his dress of knee-britches and ruffed shirt.

The debate was prolonged and fiery....

Jones launched into a gallant attack on Grahame, and was replied to evasively.  Don Grahame wanted to punch Jones’s head for what he called slurs cast at his father’s good name....

Penton made a famous speech reconciling, almost, the irreconcilable parties.

And so we adjourned.

Penton and I accompanied Jones home.  All the way the latter was arguing against Baxter’s plea, that he be more lenient with Grahame....

“You look out, Penton,” Jones warned with genial firmness ...  “Grahame has been trying to persuade people in this community not to bring shoes to me to be mended ... a dirty attempt to starve me out ...  Oh, no!...  I haven’t the slightest trace of persecution mania....

“And you’d better look out, Penton, and not play tennis this Sunday, for I’m going to strike back at the tennis-playing snobs here, of whom you’re one.”

“Jones, what do you mean by that?  Surely not a bomb to smear us all over the courts!” Penton joked.

“A bomb, yes ... it will be a bomb of sorts ... but I warn you you shan’t play games on Sunday any more.  I’ll see to that ... not that I’ve unexpectedly grown religious, but that I mean to strike back as pettily as the way in which I’m being persecuted.”

* * * * *

“I suppose he means the Blue Laws,” Penton commented seriously, “but surely he can get no one to enforce them.”

* * * * *

But Jones found a facetious officer of the law or so, down in Philadelphia, who were as glad of a chance to molest a radical colony as of an opportunity to put over a good joke....

Baxter, Grahame, Bedell, and others of the prominent members of the community were haled in to court ... and, to the surprise of everyone, sentenced to forty-eight hours hard labour on the rock-pile, in the workhouse....