A CHATTY, QUIZZY, KINDLY POLICEMAN
A policeman came up to me and said they thought I was in the flames. I rashly told him that I might as well have been, considering my appearance. “Oh, you will get over that,” said the gentleman in blue cloth. “Where do you belong to?” I said I was a native of Keighley. “Who is your police superintendent?” he queried. “Mr Cheeseborough,” I replied. “That’s true,” he said. “Know you any in the force there?” “Yes,” I said, “I know Sergeant Kershaw, and another little ill-natured dog, Jack o’ Marks. Jack goes about in plainclothes, and is about as fly as a box of monkeys.” “All right,” returned Mr Policeman. “Now that you have told me the truth, were any of you smoking in the barn?” “No, we were all asleep,” said I. Then he said that would do, and as he had no orders to arrest me, I could go—till further orders. I learned from him that Mr Norton—the gentleman for whom I had been working at the mill—owned the barn, but he was away and would not be home that day.