“Take him to the station!” cried Sheeny Joe, picking himself up, a dripping picture of blood; “he struck me with a knuckle duster.” “Not so fast, officer,” put in a reputable old gentleman. “Hear the lad's story first. The fellow was saying something to this girl. Nor does he look as though it could have been for her benefit.” “Tell me about it, youngster,” said the officer, not unkindly. My age and weight, as against those of Sheeny Joe, told with this agent of the peace, who at heart was a fair man. “Tell me what there is to this shindy.” “Why don't you take him in?” screamed Sheeny Joe. “W'at have you to do with his story?” “Well, there's two ends to an alley,” retorted the officer warmly. “I'll hear what the boy has to say. Do you think you're goin' to do all the talkin'?” “The first thing you'll know,” cried Sheeny Joe fiercely, “I'll have them pewter buttons off your coat.” “Oh, you will!” retorted the officer with a scowl. “Now just for that I'll take you in. A night in the jug will put the soft pedal on that mouth of yours.” With that, the bluecoat seized Sheeny Joe, and there we were, one in each of his hands. For myself, I had not uttered a syllable. I was ever slow of speech, and far better with my hands than my tongue. Apple Cheek, the cause of the war, stood weeping not a yard away; perhaps she was thinking, if her confusion allowed her thought, of the savageries of this new land to which she was come. Apple Cheek might have taken herself from out the hubbub by merely merging with the crowd; I think she had the coolness to do this, but was too loyal. She owned the spirit, as it stood, to come forward when I would not say a word to tell the officer the story. Apple Cheek was encouraged to this steadiness by the reputable old gentleman. Before, however, Apple Cheek could win to the end of the first sentence, a burly figure of a man, red of face and broad as a door across the shoulders, pushed his way through the crowd. “What is it?” he asked, coming in front of the officer. “Turn that man loose,” he continued, pointing to Sheeny Joe. The red-faced man spoke in a low tone, but one of cool command. The officer, however, was not to be readily driven from his ground; he was new to the place and by nature an honest soul. Still, he felt an atmosphere of power about the red-faced personage; wherefore, while he kept strictest hold on both Sheeny Joe and myself, he was not wanting of respect in his response. “These two coves are under arrest,” said the officer, shaking Sheeny Joe and myself like rugs by way of identification. “I know,” said the other, still in the low cool tone. “All the same, you turn this one loose.” The officer still hesitated with a look of half-defiance. With that the red-faced man lost temper.