At the other end of the park Paisly joined them, and, at the station-house, the girl was given a chair. She was all tears and melancholy with a modicum possibly of relief at being thus rescued from the world. Her companion, for all his youth, was defiant if circumspect, a natural animal defeated of its aim. “Better go for her father,” commented the sergeant, and by four in the morning old Rogaum, who had still been up and walking the floor, was rushing stationward. From an earlier rage he had passed to an almost killing grief, but now at the thought that he might possibly see his daughter alive and well once more he was overflowing with a mingled emotion which contained rage, fear, sorrow, and a number of other things. What should he do to her if she were alive? Beat her? Kiss her? Or what? Arrived at the station, however, and seeing his fair Theresa in the hands of the police, and this young stranger lingering near, also detained, he was beside himself with fear, rage, affection. “You! You!” he exclaimed at once, glaring at the imperturbable Almerting, when told that this was the young man who was found with his girl. Then, seized with a sudden horror, he added, turning to Theresa, “Vot haf you done? Oh, oh! You! You!” he repeated again to Almerting angrily, now that he felt that his daughter was safe. “Come not near my tochter any more! I vill preak your effery pone, du teufel, du!” He made a move toward the incarcerated lover, but here the sergeant interfered. “Stop that, now,” he said calmly. “Take your daughter out of here and go home, or I’ll lock you both up. We don’t want any fighting in here. D’ye hear? Keep your daughter off the streets hereafter, then she won’t get into trouble. Don’t let her run around with such young toughs as this.” Almerting winced. “Then there won’t anything happen to her. We’ll do whatever punishing’s to be done.” “Aw, what’s eatin’ him!” commented Almerting dourly, now that he felt himself reasonably safe from a personal encounter. “What have I done? He locked her out, didn’t he? I was just keepin’ her company till morning.” “Yes, we know all about that,” said the sergeant, “and about you, too. You shut up, or you’ll go down-town to Special Sessions. I want no guff out o’ you.” Still he ordered the butcher angrily to be gone. Old Rogaum heard nothing. He had his daughter. He was taking her home. She was not dead--not even morally injured in so far as he could learn. He was a compound of wondrous feelings. What to do was beyond him. At the corner near the butcher shop they encountered the wakeful Maguire, still idling, as they passed. He was pleased to see that Rogaum had his Theresa once more. It raised him to a high, moralizing height. “Don’t lock her out any more,” he called significantly. “That’s what brought the other girl to your door, you know!” “Vot iss dot?” said Rogaum. “I say the other girl was locked out. That’s why she committed suicide.”