The suggestive warning came from the second officer. At his voice, Pape sprang forward and peered into two familiar faces—into the chiseled smile of ’Donis Moore and the fat surprise of the “sparrow cop,” Pudge O’Shay. He couldn’t decide at the moment whether to be sorry or hopeful that these two friendly enemies should be the ones again to catch him at misdemeanor within the sacred oblong of the park. Jane didn’t like, any more than they, that they should be “rough” with her, to judge by the readiness with which she gave up the possibility of escape and ranged alongside the Westerner, quite a bit less humped and helpless looking, however, than in her approach. “I’ll say this is a pleasure—to be pinched by the only two friends I’ve got on the Force,” offered Pape with his hand. “How are you to-night, ’Donis Moore? O’Shay, greetings!” “No shaking with prisoners!” The gruffness of the foot policeman was remindful of that previous meeting in which his whistle had been mistaken for a quail’s. Adonis ignored proprieties and gripped the proffered hand. “What you up to now, Montana—unhorsed and scratching up our front yard?” “I’m a-digging,” Pape returned. “A-digging for what?” Jane supplied: “For an herb called Root-of-Evil.” “I see. Herb-roots for mother, eh?” Moore squinted a confidential wink toward the Westerner. “If you’d taken my advice, you’d be throwing something better than dirt around for some one younger and——” “But I did take your advice. This is what it led me to.” “Not in them clothes, you didn’t. Why don’t you hire out to the Sewer Department, if excavating’s your line? Sorry, but you and mother is in Dutch with us.” There came a growl from Pudge. “Not Dutch—German, and with more than us. Report of your doin’s was ’phoned the station. They sent me out to round you up. I happened on me handsome friend here off-duty and brought him along for good measure. I was minded to leave you go that other time, you cheerful lunatic. But now I’m a-going to take you in. Watch ’em, ’Donis, whilst I go ring for the wagon.” At this mention of the auto-patrol vehicle, behind the gratings of which the lawless and unfortunate are exhibited, like caged wildlings, through the city streets, Jane stepped toward Pape. He felt her hand steal into the crook of his elbow, as if for protection from such a disgrace. Although personally he had no objection to wagoning across the park to the Arsenal, he vibrated to her mute appeal. “As a favor, Moore, would you mind walking us to your calaboose?” he asked. “I give you my cross-my-heart-and-hope that we’ll not try to get away. Don’t refuse on mother’s account. She’s mighty spry on her feet.” Pudge O’Shay continued to grumble. Being a sparrow cop was no job for a flat-foot, especially a fat one, he declared. He was tired and sorry for himself out loud. After a small controversy, however, he withdrew his objection to the stroll, if not taken at speed.