As he stood watching the impotent rage with which Chris kicked the lamp-post, as though he thought it was one of the enemies he wished to punish, a policeman came suddenly round the corner. Chris made a sort of rush at him with an angry yell.
"Hullo! Drunk and disorderly, are you? Come along o' me," said the constable coolly, quietly slipping a pair of handcuffs over Chris's wrists. The latter, with renewed passion, struggled vehemently, but the policeman took no notice; he merely led Chris along, without uttering a word. It was not far to the police-station. When they had got there, Chris's captor suddenly observed Walter, who had followed at a little distance.
"What do you want?" he asked. "A night in the lock-up?"
He spoke in jest, and was very much astonished when Walter answered,—
"Yes, please."
"What? In here?" said the policeman in amazement, looking at the respectable, quiet lad. "Why, man, it's a sort of a jail."
"I don't want to go there, of course," replied Walter; "but me and him"—pointing to Chris—"has got lost, and if he's going there, why, I s'pose I must too."
"Is this your pal, then? You don't know how to choose your mates, I should say," observed the policeman. "'Tis too late for you to see a magistrate, or you could speak to Colonel Law. Where d'ye come from?"
Walter related his story, Chris meanwhile sitting on the steps almost asleep.
"It seems to me it's all your fault for not doing as the gentleman told you, but going by such as he," said the constable, looking disdainfully at Chris. "Now, look here," he added; "if you'll wait at the door while I take in this chap and speak to the superintendent, when I've done I'll take you to the colonel, and p'raps he'll see you."