"To summon assistance if you should require it." "I have an idea that my whistle will be overworked. Shall I be able to get a new one when the original's worn out?" The Inspector thought there would be no difficulty in my getting rewhistled. "'One truncheon,'" I continued. "That, of course, is to trunch with. One truncheon, though, seems rather niggardly. I should prefer two, one in each hand. 'One note-book'--is that for autographs and original contributions from my brother Specials?" "For noting names and addresses and details of cases," explained the Inspector. "For instance, if, when on duty, you saw Jack Johnson committing a breach of the peace you would--" "Blow my whistle hard--" "Certainly not. You would take his name and address and note it down." "And if he refused it I could then whistle for help?" "No, you would at once arrest him." "What's the earliest possible moment at which it would be etiquette to blow my whistle?" "When he offered resistance. Then you could whistle." "No, I couldn't," I said, "not unless my equipment included one pair of bellows. Do you mean to tell me that I should be expected to arrest a man of infinitely superior physique to my own with no other weapons than one armlet, one whistle, one truncheon and one note-book? Surely I should be allowed to run for the Mayor and get him to read the Riot Act? If not, I can only say a policeman's lot is----" "Not a happy one?" put in the Inspector. "I was going to say a policeman's lot is a lot too much. Would you kindly cross my name off your list?" "I crossed it off some minutes ago," replied the Inspector. * * * * * THE WATCH DOGS. II. DEAR CHARLES,--Another letter from the back of the front for you. You will be glad to hear that your Terrier is settling down in his temporary kennel and sharpening his teeth in due course. The time will come when you may look your gift dog in the mouth and be not disappointed, we hope, by the view. We received orders a day or two ago to take up our beds and walk; that is, a couple of officers and a hundred odd of the men were told off to execute a flank movement on a neighbouring township where there is a range, and do our damnedest with the poor old targets. So we put our oddments in our pillow-case, rolled up our bedrooms into a convenient bundle and trekked. We were assured that we should be back at our base within the week, but we have learnt to take no chances. We have but one form of movement, the _tout ensemble_. It is quite refreshing to step, over a hundred strong, into a village with no pre-arranged scheme of board and lodging. Like every other wanderer in a strange part, we turn first to the policeman. We march towards him at attention; we call a halt at the base of his feet, and then, with the courtesy of the gentleman and the brevity of the soldier, we inform him that we have arrived. The next development is up to him.