Monteagle had already become fascinated by the game, but he did not care to evince greater devotion to the gambling table than his companion; therefore he announced his readiness to depart. They had scarcely gone a dozen paces from the door, when a man stepped lightly up to Blodget, and clapping his hand on his shoulder, said, ‘You are my prisoner, sir.’ Monteagle started; but Blodget very coolly turned his face towards the man and let the segar-smoke stream from his mouth directly into the eyes of the officer. ‘You will go with me,’ cried the officer angrily. ‘Will I? In—deed. Something of a prophet too—’ At this the officer began to tug at the coat-collar of his prisoner. ‘Now, Oates, ain’t you ashamed of yourself?’ asked Blodget, loosening the hand of the other from his collar. ‘Why should I be ashamed?’ asked Oates, looking about him, as if to summon aid. ‘Simply, to impose upon my good nature in this way. Don’t you know that with one blow of my fist I could send you reeling, to say nothing of my friend here.’ ‘Your friend. What? You threaten me with a rescue, young man?’ to Monteagle. ‘I have said nothing,’ replied the youth. ‘But I don’t like your looks, sir,’ said the officer, trying to put himself in a towering passion. ‘Bah!’ cried Monteagle, ‘Come along, Blodget, before you frighten this poor gentleman to death. You see that he is ready to drop with fear now.’ ‘Very well. This is pretty conduct—pretty talk to a police officer,’ was the reply of Oates, ‘but I’ll report you to your betters. I know you both and I’ll report you.’ ‘Take something along with you first, or you’ll have nothing to tell,’ cried Blodget, seizing the official by the back of the neck, as he was about to make a hasty retreat, and giving him three or four vigorous kicks. ‘Murder! help!’ cried the police officer. ‘Oh, don’t murder me, and I’ll tell you all about it. It was Sintown who made the complaint. He said that you was—’ Before he could finish the sentence, which, for reasons of his own, Blodget did not care to hear at that moment, he was thrust into the middle of the street, and having picked himself up, the valorous officer ran around the first corner as if a legion of imps were at his heels. ‘Now,’ said Blodget to Monteagle, as they resumed their walk, ‘if the fellow had showed any pluck, I would have given him enough to keep him drunk for a week, in order to have the appearance of buying myself off. As it is, he feels so much disappointment at having received ‘more kicks than coppers’ that he will go home to his masters with a horrible story of an attempt at assassination, of being attacked by forty thieves at once, and the whole town will be at our heels in less than ten minutes. Therefore, here we part. Do you drop in at your friend’s in Montgomery-street, which is but a few steps from this spot, while I will shift for myself as I best may.’