Compounding a Felony
There was a knock at the door, but no one thought of answering it until it was repeated—more faintly, a second time—then one of the young men opened it, saying to the newcomer, “It is never locked, my boy.”
In stepped a lad some seventeen years of age, and inquired in a voice hardly audible if he could stay all night.
The young men sent the new arrival to me for an answer to his request. It was readily to be seen that the boy was in a state of great excitement. He acted so strangely that, contrary to custom, I asked him why he had come.
“The police are after me,” he stammered, as he turned and looked nervously at the door.
“What have you done?” I questioned the boy.
"I stole a bicycle and the owner just saw me walking along the street and started to chase me, calling after me, ‘Stop, thief!’ A crowd began to gather and I had all I could do to get away. I ran around a building and joined the crowd in the search; then, after a little, I dropped out of sight again and decided that I would go out to you for advice."