In the station-house, the receiving-room, with its one dirt-incrusted window, was dark, even at one o'clock--perhaps because, shoulder-high on the long-unwashed paint, was a dado of grime left by innumerable cringing backs. There was one back against it now; a drunken man, with wabbling head and glassy, half-shut eyes, was whining and sobbing, and trying to keep on his legs. When the sergeant asked his name, he answered by a hiccough which the officer, as indifferent and efficient as a cog in some slowly revolving and crushing wheel, translated into "Thomas Coney." "Come, stop crying; be a perfect gentleman, Tommy, be a perfect gentleman!" he said, yawning. And, curiously enough, Tommy straightened up and swallowed his sobs. "Look at him!" Fred whispered to Laura; "he's getting hold of himself! I suppose that's his idea of a perfect gentleman." Laura, rigid with misery, made no answer. When Thomas had been disposed of--watched by Frederica's intent eyes--she and Laura, whose knees were plainly shaking, and Catalina, who was sobbing and calling upon God, lined up in front of the sergeant's desk. Frederica answered the usual questions with brief directness; her attitude toward the big, bored officer was distinctly friendly and confidential; as he closed the blotter, she began to tell him that she had been urging the girls to demand the bal-- Before she could finish the word, she found herself, to her angry amazement, being moved along toward the corridor. "But--stop! I have not finished. And I want to telephone, and--" "What number?" Both girls spoke at once, Frederica giving Mr. Weston's number, and Laura, stammering with apprehension that Howard might not go directly home from the train, naming her own house. "Ask Mr. Weston to hunt Howard up," she implored her cousin. The telephoning was fruitless, as neither gentleman could be found. "You can try 'em again over at the House of Detention," the man said, not unkindly. "Move on! Move on!" They moved on, in spite of themselves, assisted by the impersonal pressure of an officer's hand on Fred's shoulder--Laura shivering all over, Fred's face red with displeasure at the affront of not being listened to, Catalina perfectly happy and inclined to giggle. "You'll make Mr. Weston find Howard?" Laura said, in a frantic whisper, as they walked across the courtyard to the little jail back of the station-house. "Oh, I was going to meet him,--and I am _here_!" Fred shrugged her shoulders: "Why did you come, if you mind it so? (Married women are awfully poor sports," she thought.) "Do you think I'd funk and leave you?" Laura retorted; and Fred's face softened. "Howard will be so upset--" Laura said, quivering. "Nonsense! He'll see the fun of it," Fred assured her. In matters of this kind, she understood Howard better than little Lolly ever could....