"Don't yer know that it's agin the law to play on a moosical instrument after eleven P. M.?" "No, sir, I didn't know it. Are you going to have me executed for it? Because if you are, I hope that you'll let me consult a spiritual adviser, first." "You're too fresh, young feller. I might have let yer off--" "With a reppermand," put in Gregory. "Mose, you shut your head!" said the constable. Then he turned again to the prisoner. "I mighta let yer off, but now I'm goin' to keep yer right here in the lockup, an' consider the case tomorrer mornin'. Take him below, Justin." Justin was the fat man, with the fan-like ears. He stepped forward. "Number six?" he asked the constable. "Yup. Put him in number six." Justin took the prisoner by the arm, took the banjo in his other hand, and together they started down stairs. They passed in front of us to reach the stairs, and as they did so, the young man turned to Mr. Daddles with a smile: "If you ever get out alive, remember me to my friends, out there. Tell 'em I passed away, thinking of them." "Silence in the Court!" cried Gregory. The constable was now in a fury. "If he locks up a man for banjo-playing--" murmured Mr. Daddles,-- "He'll have us burned at the stake," suggested Jimmy Toppan. I had been feeling very unhappy ever since we arrived in the police-station. It looked to me as if we were in a pretty bad fix. The constable was so savage toward everybody it didn't seem possible that he would believe that we had broken into the house by mistake. Also, I was so tired that I was ready to drop. We had been up since four o'clock that morning, and it was now after midnight. It seemed to be years since we had left the "Hoppergrass," and during the last few hours we had walked over a dozen miles. "Now," said the constable, "we'll make short work of you. Names?" He really seemed to be less indignant with us, than with the banjo-player. Burglary was a smaller offence in his eyes than "disturbin' the peace,"--with a banjo. He soon had the names of Edward Mason, James Rogers Toppan, and Samuel Edwards added to his list. "Name?" he snapped to Mr. Daddles. "Richard Hendricks." "Why!" exclaimed Ed Mason, "I thought your name was Daddles!" "Hear that? hear that?" put in Gregory the Gauger, "that's his Elias!" "No, it's not an alias,--in the sense that you mean. It's a nickname. There is no use in going through this again. What I told you in the first place is all true,--and we'll prove it to you in the morning. I know, or used to know, a number of people here. I know Mr. Littlefield, my uncle's neighbor, but if he's gone away, that won't do any good. But I know an old lady down the street here, who lets rooms, and sells sweet-peas, and painted shells, and things. Isn't there such a woman?" "What's her name? S'pose there is,--what of it?"