"Not now," grinned O'Keefe. "Say, what is your name now, Foxy?"
"My name—" roared Foxy Grandpa, and paused abruptly. He looked rather blankly from one officer to the other.
"See here; do I understand I'm under arrest?" he inquired.
"You certainly are talking, Foxy," chuckled O'Keefe.
"Then my name's Doe—John Doe," and I thought the fellow's quick glance at me held an appeal. Of what sort, I had no idea.
"And what, may I ask, is the charge?" he asked again, with what was apparently a great effort at calmness.
"Oh, come now, Braxton," said the officer in a tone of disgust, "stop your foolery; you're just using up time. Ain't it enough that you're in this building and in this gentleman's rooms?"
"In his rooms!" exploded Foxy Grandpa. "Why, you lunkhead, this gentleman will tell you I am his guest!" He turned to me with a sort of angry laugh.
"Tell him, Lightnut," he rasped. "I've had enough of this!"
The big policeman's features expanded in a grin, while Tim doubled forward an instant, his blue girth wabbling with internal appreciation of the Foxy one's facetiousness; and the janitor snickered.