He took a pad of forms from the desk and balanced a pencil. In the proper places he inscribed Jeff's name, age, the offense with which he was charged, and other pertinent data. He looked closely at what he had written, and from the dark cells in back came a shouted, "Hey, Pop! Who's the new tenant?" "Shut up, Ike." "Aw, bring him back, Pop. Bucky and me'd like to meet him." "You two be quiet," Pop reprimanded the prisoner. Then he addressed Jeff. "Ike Wilson and Bucky Edwards--they finally got caught." "What for?" "Stealing chickens." Jeff looked unbelieving and the jailer's face became less gentle. For a moment he was almost stern. "That's serious. It isn't a light matter." "I know." "Then why did you look so doubtful?" "It seems a few chickens are hardly worth a jail sentence." "They're not, and neither is anything else, but some people never learn that. It just happens those boys weren't satisfied with one chicken. They got three thousand that anybody knows about." "Whew!" "They'll pay for it. Now, Jeff, I'll have to take your dog." Jeff sparred for time. He had known other people in similar circumstances whose dog had been taken away, and half the time they'd simply disappeared. That they'd sickened and died was the usual story, but actually they'd been destroyed because it was too much trouble to take care of them. Outwardly, Jeff affected an air of supreme indifference. "Sure," he agreed. "Go ahead. Just be careful. Pal doesn't like a lot of people and he bites whoever he dislikes. Better be careful he gets his regular feeding every day, too. That's four pounds of the best ground steak. He hates everybody if he doesn't get it." "Yeah?" Pop was not at all friendly now. "Suppose he gets sick?" "If I don't get him back--and in as good a shape as when he was taken away--I know a couple of good lawyers." "Lawyers cost money." "I have a certain amount of influence." Pop rubbed his chin reflectively and stared at the window. "I suppose you could keep him in your cell if you want to pay for his board." "I might," Jeff said, knowing he had won this round and that his chance shot had hit the bull's-eye. Obviously, for reasons of his own, Pop did not care to have any lawyers investigating anything. "How good a cell?" Pop was all brittle now. "If you've been in other cells, you know how good. How old are you?" "Old enough to land in jail. That tie you're wearing, Pop. It hardly befits the dignity of your position and--" "I told you not to try to sell anything to me! Maybe, just maybe, we can think up some other charge." "We'd buy if we had any money!" the man in the back cell yelled. "What's your name, peddler?" "Jeff Tarrant, representing Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd. The most quality for the most discriminating people." "What's that dis-dingus mean?" "It means shut up!" Pop snarled. "You're a smart one, huh?" Jeff said meekly, "All I know is black from white. I take my pack in the cell too, don't I?" "No!"