"There comes the boys," he said. "They've heard of the shindy." And in another minute four policemen burst into the place.
"Cowdery's gang!" was the brief comment of the commanding officer. "We'll have them under lock and key before morning."
H. Blasius had assumed a most pious expression in a most inconspicuous position behind the bar, but dropped it as the policemen left.
"I've found my hodman," whispered Parks to me.
"Where?"
"Here. He isn't a hodman, but he's just as good. He's a drayman with a voice like a fog-horn and a gift of tongue."
"And the brains?"
"I carry them under my hat," said Parks.
"What's his name?"
"Mr. Kearney--Mr. Hampden," said Parks, raising his voice and introducing me gravely. Then, taking the arm of his new-found treasure, Parks walked out of the saloon.