What more the two women might have said was interrupted by the rattle of a cart that drove to the gutter and stopped at the Redding gate. In the vehicle were Harvey Redding, the newly self-appointed saint, as fat as ever, and a man of spare and awkward construction whose long neck suggested that of an ostrich in the act of swallowing an orange. He was in his shirt sleeves, without a waistcoat, but on one of his suspenders straps he wore one of the largest nickel-plated stars that ever adorned a human being. This star bore the legend, “Riverbank Municipal Police; Canine Division, No. I,” and had been presented to Officer Schulig by a group of playful citizens with a speech. While properly credentialed as a deputy member of the Riverbank police force and as full and complete Dog Warden, Officer Schulig now received no pay and considered it fitting to do no work except when driven to it by direct orders from the Town Marshal. As he said himself, he had “soured onto the schob” when the City Council took away the twenty-five cent fee for capturing and impounding stray dogs. He had even given up wearing his star in public, except when it was absolutely necessary, because it had become the custom of the lighter-minded to shield their eyes when the star approached, as if its glory was too great. At the same time these ungodly rascals would read the badge, saying, “Rifferbangk Muntzipipple Poleetz. Canine Divitzion. No one,” this having been the manner in which Officer Schulig had read it upon its presentation. What made it more annoying to Officer Schulig was that when any one read “Canine Divitzion. No one,” some one always chanted, with surprise, “What, no one at all?” and the answer, apologetically given, was, “Well, hardly any one.”
The custom of teasing Officer Schulig when he was performing any police duty had become so common, and made him so angry, that he no longer waited to be teased; he became angry as soon as he was called upon to perform any official task. And he was angry now.
“Got a hurry mit you, und out from my buggy get. By gollies, I ain't got all day yet for fooling aroundt. I shouldt take a club to you if I ain't left it to home already,” he ordered; and Saint Harvey hefted his huge bulk from the seat and clambered out of the cart backward. When he turned toward the house he, too, was red with anger and with the unusual exertion. On his fat wrists were a pair of glittering handcuffs.
“Dod-baste you!” he exclaimed whole-heartedly to Officer Schulig. “You ain't got no right to drag me into my sister's house with these here things on me. Take 'em off!”
“Stop now! You don't say to me dot you baste me!” shouted Schulig, white with rage. “Nobody hass a righdt to baste me. Baste yourself! Und I don't take hand-cuffers off from any man vot says he bastes me. Und anyhow I don't. I leaf my keys by my house. So shut up once!”
CHAPTER VII
What on earth is the matter?” Henrietta asked Officer Schulig. “What have you got those handcuffs on Mr. Redding for?”
“Why this dod-basted lunatic went an' arrested me,” sputtered Harvey. “I whanged him on the head an' you'd 'a' whanged him on the head, too, if he'd come arrestin' you when you was n't doin' nothin' but sittin' in your rockin'-chair meditatin'—”