"Don't send me away, lady," he pleaded. "I've been to prison too, same as all of you." The woman who alone among us answered to this generic description of a mild and blameless local committee, came swiftly forward. "I'm sorry," she said. "What can we do for you, and what made you come to us?" The man jerked his hand towards the corner of the street where a policeman stood on the point. "Said he couldn't help me himself," was the reply. "Oh, he spoke kind enough, I'm not complaining of the coppers----" "No, of course not," agreed our militant member. "He's especially nice, that one. He's the one that arrested me in Parliament Square." Another customer, who was making a genuine purchase, was struck speechless by this calm announcement on the part of an amiable-looking shop assistant; but the ticket-of-leave man went on with his tale unemotionally. "He said to me--'You go to the Suffragettes yonder,' he said; 'they'll help you if anyone can,' he said. So I came in on the chance like." We were rather sorry that our friend on the point sent us no more ticket-of-leave men to vary the monotony of business life and to add to the circle of acquaintance of our militant member. She, however, always maintained that it was an error of judgment, if not of taste, on our part, to present the policeman who had once arrested her with the hand-painted tobacco-pouch, though she admitted that he might use it for the rest of his life without discovering what the sketch of Holloway Gaol was meant for.