“Take your hands off him, I tell you!” cried the redfaced man, a spark of anger showing in his small gray eyes. “Do you know me? I'm Big Kennedy. Did you never hear of Big John Kennedy of Tammany Hall? You do what I say, or I'll have you out in Harlem with the goats before to-morrow night.” With that, he of the red face took Sheeny Joe from between the officer's fingers; nor did the latter seek to detain him. The frown of authority left his brow, and his whole face became overcast with a look of surly submission. “You should have said so at the jump,” remarked the officer sullenly. “How was I to know who you are?” “You're all right,” returned the red-faced one, lapsing into an easy smile. “You're new to this stroll; you'll be wiser by an' by.” “What'll I do with the boy?” asked the officer. “Officer,” broke in the reputable old gentleman, who was purple to the point apoplectic; “officer, do you mean that you will take your orders from this man?” “Come, my old codger,” interrupted the red-faced one loftily, “stow that. You had better sherry for Fift' Avenue where you belong. If you don't, th' gang down here may get tired, d'ye see, an' put you in the river.” Then to the officer: “Take the boy in; I'll look him over later.” “An' the girl!” screamed Sheeny Joe. “I want her lagged too.” “An' the girl, officer,” commanded the red-faced one. “Take her along with the boy.” Thus was the procession made up; the officer led Apple Cheek and myself to the station, with Sheeny Joe, still bleeding, and the red-faced man to be his backer, bringing up the rear. At the station it was like the whirl and roar of some storm to me. It was my first captivity--my first collision with the police, and my wits were upside down. I recall that a crowd of people followed us, and were made to stand outside the door. The reputable old gentleman came also, and tried to interefere in behalf of Apple Cheek and myself. At a sign from the red-faced man, who stood leaning on the captain's desk with all the confidence of life, that potentate gave his sharp command. “Screw out!” cried he, to the reputable old gentleman. “We don't want any of your talk!” Then to an officer in the station: “Put him out!” “I'm a taxpayer!” shouted the reputable old gentleman furiously. “You'll pay a fine,” responded the captain with a laugh, “if you kick up a row 'round my station. Now screw out, or I'll put you the wrong side of the grate.” The reputable old gentleman was thrust into the street with about as much ceremony as might attend the delivery of a bale of goods at one's door. He disappeared, declaring he would have justice; at which a smile widened the faces of the sophisticated officers, several of whom were lounging about the room.