“All right,” said the other, with a smile--“if you don't forget it.” Then a couple of customers entered. “Run along now,” said he. And Samuel went--the more readily because he realized that he had been all this time in a saloon, a place of mystery and wickedness to him. He started down the street again. A fine cold rain had begun to fall. What was he to do? He felt warm, having feasted. But there was no use in getting wet. He glanced into the doorways as he passed, and seeing a dark and empty one, crouched inside. Lockmanville! What a curious coincidence! And there were hundreds in the town out of work. It seemed a strange and terrible thing. Could it be that they let people starve as he was starving--people they knew? Could it be that they went on about their business and paid no attention to such a thing? He must get out, they told him. But how? Would the railroad take him, if he explained? Or would the people on the way give him work? He had got some food at last, but only by begging. And was he expected to beg? There came footsteps outside. A man strode into the doorway and took hold of the door and tried it. Then he turned to go out. Samuel moved his foot out of the way. “Hello!” said the man. “Who's that?” “Only me,” said Samuel. “Get up there,” commanded the other. He got up and a hand seized him by the collar. “Who are you?” He was jerked into the light before he had a chance to reply. “More bums!” growled the voice; and Samuel, terrified, saw that he was in the grasp of a policeman. “Please, sir, I'm not doing any harm,” he began. “Come,” said the policeman. “Where to?” he cried. But the other merely jerked him along. A sudden wild horror seized Samuel. “You're not going to arrest me!” he exclaimed. “Sure,” said the other. “Why not?” “But,” he exclaimed, “I've not done anything. I can't help it. I--” He started to drag back, and the man twisted a huge hand, in his collar, choking him. “Do you want to be hit?” he growled. So Samuel went on. But sobs shook him, convulsive sobs of terror and despair, and tears of shame rolled down his cheeks. He was going to jail! “What's the matter with you?” said the policeman after a bit. “Why don't you be quiet?” “You've no business to arrest me,” wailed the boy. “I haven't done anything, and I couldn't help it. I've no place to go and no money. And it's not my fault.” “You can tell that to the judge,” replied the other. “But--but what have I done? Why--” “Shut up!” said the officer, and gave another twist at his throat. And after that Samuel was quiet. CHAPTER V In the station-house a fat sergeant sat dozing upon his throne. “Another vagrant,” said the policeman, as if to say there was no special need to rouse himself. “What was he doing?” the sergeant asked. “Sleeping in a doorway,” was the reply.