“With threats also, and insults—abandoned ruffian! Desperate! Catiline! Officer—do your duty! I make demand of you. Dake dot mon into gustody!” Preisser’s eyes were dancing as he fought down a grin.
Mr. Gwinne regarded the impassioned disputants with grave eyes.
“You are under arrest, Mr. Lull,” he said with somber official severity. “Can you give bail?”
“Not one red cent.”
“Come in, then.”
Lull followed through the door. Turning, he smiled back at the little assayer. Preisser winked.
“I’ll have to lock you up, you know,” said Gwinne. “District attorney particularly desired that no one should hold communication with Dines, over yonder.” He locked Lull in a cell; forgetfully leaving the key in the lock. “Don’t try to shout across to Dines, now,” he warned. “I’ll hear you. Well, I’ll be meanderin’ along to the kitchen and starting supper.”
Hobby reached through the bars and turned the key. He went over to Johnny’s cell.
“Well, Dines, how goes it? You don’t look much downhearted.”