It was Emslie with his supper.
"Playing waiter, eh?" drawled Ambrose. "You fellows have to be everything from grooms to chambermaids, don't you?"
Young Emslie stared, and grew red. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded.
"A man must have a little entertainment," said Ambrose. "I'm forced to get it out of you. You don't know how funny you are, Emslie."
"You'd best be civil!" growled the policeman.
"Why?" drawled out Ambrose. "You've got to keep a hold on yourself whatever I say to you. It's regulations. Man to man I could lick you with ease!"
"By gad!" began Emslie. Very red in the face, he turned on his heel, and went out slamming the door.
Ambrose laughed, and felt a little better. Only by allowing his bitter pain some such outlet was he able to endure it.
Disregarding the supper, he strode up and down his prison, planning in his despair how he would harden himself to steel. No longer would he suffer in silence. To the last hour he'd swagger and jeer.
These red-coats were stiff-necked and dull-witted; he could have rare fun with them.