“‘Kidding,’ as you call it, is one of the favourite occupations of society, Cotton. A good part of our intercourse consists of it--at least among the younger set.” Suddenly the marshal rose. “Say,” he demanded, “would you mind going back upstairs for a few minutes?” Hal could not restrain his laughter at this. “I should mind it very much,” he said. “I have been on a bread and water diet for thirty-six hours, and I should like very much to get out and have a breath of fresh air.” “But,” said the other, lamely, “I’ve got to send you up there.” “That’s another matter,” replied Hal. “If you send me, I’ll go, but it’s your look-out. You’ve kept me here without legal authority, with no charge against me, and without giving me an opportunity to see counsel. Unless I’m very much mistaken, you are liable criminally for that, and the company is liable civilly. That is your own affair, of course. I only want to make clear my position--when you ask me would I _mind_ stepping upstairs, I, answer that I would mind very much indeed.” The camp-marshal stood for a bit, chewing nervously on his extinct cigar. Then he went to the door. “Hey, Gus!” he called. Hal’s jailer appeared, and Cotton whispered to him, and he went away again. “I’m telling him to get you some food, and you can sit and eat it here. Will that suit you better?” “It depends,” said Hal, making the most of the situation. “Are you inviting me as your prisoner, or as your guest?” “Oh, come off!” said the other. “But I have to know my legal status. It will be of importance to my lawyers.” “Be my guest,” said the camp-marshal. “But when a guest has eaten, he is free to go out, if he wishes to!” “I will let you know about that before you get through.” “Well, be quick. I’m a rapid eater.” “You’ll promise you won’t go away before that?” “If I do,” was Hal’s laughing reply, “it will be only to my place of business. You can look for me at the tipple, Cotton!” SECTION 21. The marshal went out, and a few moments later the jailer came back, with a meal which presented a surprising contrast to the ones he had previously served. There was a tray containing cold ham, a couple of soft boiled eggs, some potato salad, and a cup of coffee with rolls and butter. “Well, well!” said Hal, condescendingly. “That’s even nicer than beefsteak and mashed potatoes!” He sat and watched, not offering to help, while the other made room for the tray on the table in front of him. Then the man stalked out, and Hal began to eat. Before he had finished, the camp-marshal returned. He seated himself in his revolving chair, and appeared to be meditative. Between bites, Hal would look up and smile at him. “Cotton,” said he, “you know there is no more certain test of breeding than table-manners. You will observe that I have not tucked my napkin in my neck, as Alec Stone would have done.” “I’m getting you,” replied the marshal.