Wyeth was shocked beyond speech. Evidently, he had not as yet come to appreciate that he was otherwise than on the _Rosebud_. "Where you been, n.i.g.g.e.r?" came the terrible voice once more.

Wyeth woke up. Moreover, he became obviously frightened. He replied--and lo! He was trembling also, as he cried:

"What do you mean, Mr. Policeman!" He was now wild-eyed. "I'm not breaking the law; I have done nothing; I am on the way to my room and to bed. Why do you hold me up this way. I don't think I am obliged to answer such questions as you ask; but I have been calling, I cannot see that it matters where, since--"

"Aw don't talk to the man lak dat," whimpered the chauffeur.

"I'll knock your d.a.m.ned head off, n.i.g.g.e.r! What'n h.e.l.l's got int' you to talk to a white man like that!" He turned his face to the other who had not, up to then, said anything, and said: "Let's arrest them!" The other acquiesced. "Come on!" he roared, grabbing the chauffeur by the belt of his trousers, and whirling him about. The other caught Sidney likewise, but was more civil in the act.

"Good Lord, Mister," said he to his cop, "why are you arresting us? We have done nothing!"

"Got orders to pick up everybody after one o'clock who looks _suspicious_, and cannot give good accounts of themselves," he replied soberly.

"I wish I had known it," Wyeth sighed wearily; "but I'm at least glad that I didn't have him lead me," he said, pointing to the cop who had the chauffeur.

"You made him mad," grinned the patrolman. "You must not live here?"

"No, Lord, and I wish at this moment I had never come."

"When a white man speaks to you down here, always answer him 'sir!'" he advised.

"I most a.s.suredly will, if I meet any more like him," said Sidney meekly. After a moment of silence as they stumbled along, he said thoughtfully: "I hate this. I've never been arrested before in my life.

Will they lock us up?"

"Oh, sure!" the other laughed.

"M-m-m-m--m!"

"Jes' lemme go this time, Mister," whined the chauffeur ahead, "'n' I won' neve' be out late no mo'."

"I'm sorry, son," said the bull-cop a little kindly, "but it's impossible. I o'n' think you are bad 'tall, but that other n.i.g.g.e.r's crooked, 'n' I know he is," he said, pointing back at Wyeth. He was overheard, and despite the precarious condition Wyeth realized he was in, he smiled.

"He's sho got a bad 'pinion a-you, son," laughed Wyeth's cop.

"I'll go t' bed eve' night at nine 'clock--eight 'f you say so," begged the chauffeur, as they neared the patrol box.

While they were waiting for the "wagon," the copper with the chauffeur in charge turned that worthy over to the other cop, and ran across the street to intercept another Negro. That one happened to be a waiter who worked at night, and was, accordingly, allowed to go his way; but he had been off work since ten o'clock. Wyeth and the chauffeur had left him at the palm garden when they departed, but that was no argument now. The other went his way, whistling cheerfully, while they stood prisoners of the law.

It was a dreadful experience for Sidney Wyeth.

A mighty but familiar jingling of bells proclaimed that the "wagon" was on the way, and in an incredibly short time they were pushed inside. As the door closed, with a bigger cop than the others between the culprits (?) and the door, these words came to Wyeth's ears: "Idling and Loitering!"

"Youse the cause a-this," accused the chauffeur angrily.

Wyeth laughed outright.

"How c'n you laf 'n' us on the way t' the lock-up!"

Wyeth laughed in earnest now, while the bull smiled naively.

"I wish I'd a-neve' seen you," said the other wearily.

"It's vain to make such wishes now;" and then something occurred to him.

He had been to the bank, but had, fortunately, not deposited all he had.

"Say, Governor," he cried, "if a man should put up money when he is taken before the clerk, or whoever it is that receives us, would they allow him to return without locking him up?" His inquiry was eager. The other replied:

"Most a.s.suredly."

"Good! How much will I have to put up to keep from being locked up?"

"About ten dollars and seventy-five cents."

Wyeth did some counting. "I have ten fifty. Will they let me out on that?"

"I think so."

"What you goin' do 'bout me?" put in the chauffeur.

"Do about you!" said Wyeth. "What you going to do about yourself? I'm not your guardian."

"But I ain' got bu' fifty cents," he wailed despairingly.

"Then methinks you will sleep on Dalton street tonight."

They had arrived at the station by this time. Wyeth recalled a few hours before with a feeling of awe, as he recognized the place and the words the man had used.

"What's your name?" demanded the clerk of the chauffeur.

"Boise Demon."

"Yours!"

Wyeth gave it, and as the clerk made a record of it, he made inquiry regarding a bond.

"All right. Ten seventy-five."

"I have but ten fifty."

"See the sargent."

"What's the charge?" inquired that orderly, coming forward.

"Id'ling and loitering."

"Let him off for ten."

"Pay me out, pay me out!" trembled the chauffeur.