Mrs.Tucker repeated it with some hauteur.
"I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the sheriff," said one of the loungers.
Mrs.Tucker was not aware of it.
"Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence Tucker's wife," said another with a coarse laugh.

The laugh was echoed by the others.

Mrs.Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately walked, but did not flinch.
"Is there any one to serve here ?" she asked, turning her clear eyes full upon the bystanders.
"You'd better ask the sheriff.

He was the last one to SARVE here.
He sarved an attachment," replied the inevitable humorist of all Californian assemblages.
"Is he here ?" asked Mrs.Tucker, disregarding the renewed laughter which followed this subtle witticism.
The loungers at the door made way for one of their party, who was half dragged, half pushed into the shop.

"Here he is," said half a dozen eager voices, in the fond belief that his presence might impart additional humor to the situation.