“Tantrum, that’s it, boy. We should ha’ been spliced afore now if it hadn’t been for her tantrums. But only to think o’ your being picked up in the street like this. And what am I to do now? You’ve absconded, you have; you know you’ve absconded in the eyes of the law.”
“Write to Mary, please, sir, and ask her if it wasn’t enough to make me run away.”
“Abscond, my lad, abscond,” said the constable.
“Yes, sir,” I said, with a shiver, “abscond.”
“You didn’t—you didn’t,” he said in a half hesitating way, as he felt and pinched my bundle, and then ran his hand down by my jacket-pocket. “You didn’t—these are all your own things in this, are they?”
“Oh yes, sir!” I said.
“Because some boys when they absconds, makes mistakes, and takes what isn’t theirs.”
“Do they, sir?”
“Yes, my lad, and I’m puzzled about you. You see, it’s my duty to treat you like a runaway ’prentice, and I’m uneasy in my mind about what to do. You see, you did run away.”
“Oh yes, sir, I did run away. I was obliged to. Mr Blakeford wanted me to tell lies.”