line of his mouth had so straightened that it looked like a healed sabre cut. "There ain't none of your men that ain't been obliging to the gentleman since we been to work (I inwardly thanked him for that), and I don't see why you should put "Well, it ain't for you to see. I get my orders are ye going to move, or shall I — "Hold on, Evins!" I said. These fellows with balls in their legs often get mixed as to whom they are fighting; and then again, a London Bobby is backed by the whole British Empire. "Just one moment, officer; where is your nearest police station?" "What's that got to do with it?" He had evidently begun to take my measure, for the sentence was finished in a tone bordering on respectful toleration. "Nothing to you perhaps, but a lot to me. You are the first policeman in all London who has not been particularly polite. If my cab is in the wrong place I'll move it somewhere else - anywhere you say. If you can't give me this permission, I'll find somebody who will. Where will I go?" To tell the truth, with all my bravado I was shaking in my shoes. But I knew I had to back up Evins in some way comrades on the same battlefield, so to speak lose my chauffeur's respect, and that would be worse than being locked up. "Down by the Viaduct or I'd and much good will it do ye." "I know it, sir," said Evins behind his hand. "I was run in there myself once for speedin'." Into the taxi again, the crowd pressing closer, wondering what it was all about; a whirl through streaming streets, and we pulled up in front of the customary overhead lantern. Two policemen guarded the door. "Is the inspector in?" "Who wants him?” "Take him this card, and say that a gentleman from New York wants to see him at once.' I could put on all the airs I happened to have about me now at least until I got inside. "This way, sir." The "sir" was encouraging. I was not to be thrown out anyway that is, not neck and heels. A short, stockily built man of fifty, in a loose blue jacket, and whose calm eyes had uncovered every act of my life in the first glance, advanced to meet me, my card in his hand. "What is it?"—not "Who have I the honour?" or "What can I do for you?" but just "What is it?” I fell at once into telegraphic abbreviation. "First officer - Holborn permitted me to sketch old Staple Inn from taxi - second officer drove me away said blocking up street came to you in consequence. Another exact caliper gaze. He was conning over my ancestry now, trying to find out whether any of them were hanged. "Ugh!" The sound of this word cannot be given with any vowels or consonants with which I am familiar. As near as I could judge it meant confidence in my statements, qualified disgust at the stand taken by the second Bobby, and a desire to see me through. "Have you any complaint to make of the officer?” "No. He was only doing his duty as he saw it." The eye relaxed its grip. He was now convinced of the unblemished life of my ancestors - my tactful reply did the business. He strode to the telephone. More buzz, buzz - a distant buzzing I afterward discovered. 66 up Holborn way, Buzz, Buzz. "Yes." Then he turned to me. "You can go back. The officer has his instructions.' That was a great shout which went up from the crowd when Evins, with his face one broad, illimitable smile, whirled our cab into place again! "Got square with that Yarmouth bloater," was all he said. |