"The Ole Kent Road—'Ome!" he mumbled to himself. Relentless hands pushed him against the wall. At his feet lay Sam, a dark pool forming under him.
"Will you speak?" vociferated the officer.
"'Ome," mumbled Bill. "'Ome!—Oh, Gawd!"
He ignored the demand—seemed not to hear it.
The officer, exasperated, stamped upon the gravel. Again he uttered the sharp order, again the windows shook. Bill slid down the wall with his head on his breast.
The officer turned to the survivor, the petty rogue, nurtured fatherless in a London slum. "Now, my man," he said cheerfully. "You see I am not to be trifled with. Come—tell me what corps passed through here yesterday." He added with a smile of contempt, "These scruples are absurd in a deserter."
A cunning grin came over Oswald's face.
"Yah!" he said. "Deserter, am I? So I am, but I ain't goin' to peach on my pals. They've give yer the slip right enough—an' yer knows it. Yah!" He finished with an ugly grimace.
A moment later, he also stood with his back to the wall.