Presently he discerns amid the crowd inside the railing the now familiar features of Pat, the officer, who beckons him to come within.
Our friend rises to his feet to obey, but instantly another officer bawls: "Sit down there, you!" and Appleboy collapses.
"Hi, there, Rounds, let that old guy in, will ye?" asks Pat good-naturedly.
The roundsman condescendingly nods to the grizzled guardian of the gate, who holds it open just wide enough to allow our hero to squeeze through.
"Mornin'," remarks Pat, chewing vigorously.
"Good-morning, officer," replies Appleboy. "Where is the prisoner?"
"She came in the wagon half an hour ago," says Pat. "Step up while he makes out the complaint. After that we'll arrange her."
So Pat and his complainant join the mob which is besieging the clerk's desk, and finally secure enough of that functionary's scattered attention to induce him to draw up a brief statement of the facts in the case. Pat disappears into the cells to emerge in a few minutes, escorting the bewildered Maria. She is then "arranged," which in police parlance is to say she is arraigned. She has no counsel, and evidently supposes her interrogator to be the judge, for she insists on addressing him as "Yer onner." The clerk briefly warns her of her rights and puts the few necessary questions, which Maria answers in a quavering voice. It is obvious that she expects to be at once deported to Sing Sing or the "Island."
"Name?"