"You should call yourself that," Jeff a.s.serted. "Do you have much trouble?"

The constable shrugged. "It depends."

"There's just one thing I wonder about," Jeff said. "I've met a lot of police in a lot of towns. All the rest had silver badges. How come yours is bra.s.s?"

"It was silver when I got it," the constable said ruefully. "Blame thing turned color on me."

"Why don't you polish it?"

"I do ever' night. Use soap and all. Can't do a thing with it."

"Have you tried Blecker's Silver Polish?"

"What's that?"

"A polish for badges."

"Never heard of it."

"Some store in Cressman should stock it."

"They don't. I've tried everything they have." He looked searchingly at Jeff. "Do you have any?"

"Yes but," Jeff laughed nervously, "you've already got me on one charge.

I wouldn't care to be up on two."

"Let me see it," the constable urged.

"I'd better not."

"I won't tell a person, and you have the word of Joe Parker for that.

Come on. Let's sneak behind this fence and have a look."

"Well--"

In the shadow of the fence, Jeff took a jar of Blecker's Unique Silver Polish from his pack, dipped an end of his handkerchief lightly into it, and carefully rubbed a small portion of the badge. As though by magic, the tarnish disappeared and bright silver gleamed where it had been.

"How much does that cost?" the constable breathed.

"Thirty cents a jar, but you've treated me so nicely, I'll let you have two for fifty cents."

"Thanks." The constable slipped the two jars into his trousers pocket, gave Jeff a half dollar, and said, "Guess we'd better get to jail."

"Guess we had."

The constable steered Jeff and Pal back to the court house but took them into the bas.e.m.e.nt, instead of the main entrance. There were two windows with a desk beneath them, and behind the desk sat a gray-haired man with a friendly face but a weary smile. In the dimly-lighted corridor beyond were four jail cells.

The constable paused at the desk. "Hi, Pop," he greeted the jailer.

"This peddler was peddlin' near stores. You tell him what to do with his dog and pack, huh?"

Without another glance at Jeff, Joe Parker turned and started back toward the entrance. Even as he walked, he industriously polished his badge.

3. ESCAPE

The jailer tilted his chair, clamped both hands behind his head, and looked steadily at the new arrival. Jeff stood still, sensing something here that had not been evident at first glance. Pop had a kindly face and a weary smile, but were they a mask? After a moment, he spoke.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

"Getting in jail."

"You're a peddler?"

"I represent Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd. Now I have here--"

"Whoa! Whoa there! I see a lot of peddlers. My knife is all right, my watch is all right, I don't need tooth picks, tooth brushes, or anything else, and I haven't any family. How long have you been peddling?"

"Quite a spell."

"You ever been in trouble before?"

Jeff said blandly, "I've been in jail before."

"You're just a kid and I don't like to see kids in trouble," the jailer murmured sadly.

"How much trouble am I in?"

"You'll be kept until you can be brought before Justice Murphy. He'll fine you five dollars and tell you to get out of town."

"Can't I see him now?"

"Justice Murphy," the jailer said, "has gone fishing. He won't be back for a week."

"Then I'm to be your guest for a week?"

"It looks that way. Might as well get you checked in."

He took a pad of forms from the desk and balanced a pencil. In the proper places he inscribed Jeff's name, age, the offense with which he was charged, and other pertinent data. He looked closely at what he had written, and from the dark cells in back came a shouted, "Hey, Pop!

Who's the new tenant?"

"Shut up, Ike."

"Aw, bring him back, Pop. Bucky and me'd like to meet him."

"You two be quiet," Pop reprimanded the prisoner. Then he addressed Jeff. "Ike Wilson and Bucky Edwards--they finally got caught."