"Well?" continued the policeman.
Still Brown paused, rapidly taking account of stock. If he did not deny the charge in terms he would be locked up, which was just as bad. But the bull-jawed chap spoke first.
"I want this man arrested!" he insisted. "He deliberately attacked me!"
"I did no such thing!" shouted Brown. "He came at me without provocation and knocked me down."
"It took you long enough to say so," commented the officer. "I'll have to take you along to the house. Come on, both of you."
Grasping Brown by the arm, he marched him down the street. Suddenly the unfortunate manager began to pour forth a long explanation, quite incoherent so far as the policeman was concerned. He was the victim of a frame-up—it was a job to get him arrested. The officer remarked unsympathetically that he had heard that sort of thing many times before. Gottlieb and I skulked in the rear. When the police station was at last reached the thick-set man made a charge of assault against the manager and Brown was compelled perforce to make a similar charge against his adversary. Then both were locked up to await a hearing the next morning in the magistrate's court, when, after a prolonged examination, Brown was discharged with an admonition against a too free indulgence in alcoholic liquors.
"Don't be hard on him, judge," said the bull-jawed man. "I had no trouble in defending myself. I think he has had lesson enough."
Much the worse for wear, Mr. Brown passed out of the court-room, only to be confronted on the sidewalk by a marshal with a warrant for his arrest. It was Monday morning. His period of immunity was over. His eye caught Gottlieb and myself standing on the corner.
"Well, boys," he exclaimed ruefully, "I'm caught. How much is it going to cost?"
"Fifteen thousand dollars," answered Gottlieb, adding, after a moment's pause—"and disbursements."