“Go on, beat it,” was the answer, “or I'll pull you sure.”
The civic righteousness of Carter Watson flamed up.
“Mr. Officer, I protest—”
But at that moment the policeman grabbed his arm with a savage jerk that nearly overthrew him.
“Come on, you're pulled.”
“Arrest him, too,” Watson demanded.
“Nix on that play,” was the reply.
“What did you assault him for, him a peacefully eatin' his soup?”
II
Carter Watson was genuinely angry. Not only had he been wantonly assaulted, badly battered, and arrested, but the morning papers without exception came out with lurid accounts of his drunken brawl with the proprietor of the notorious Vendome. Not one accurate or truthful line was published. Patsy Horan and his satellites described the battle in detail. The one incontestable thing was that Carter Watson had been drunk. Thrice he had been thrown out of the place and into the gutter, and thrice he had come back, breathing blood and fire and announcing that he was going to clean out the place. “EMINENT SOCIOLOGIST JAGGED AND JUGGED,” was the first head-line he read, on the front page, accompanied by a large portrait of himself. Other headlines were: “CARTER WATSON ASPIRED TO CHAMPIONSHIP HONORS”; “CARTER WATSON GETS HIS”; “NOTED SOCIOLOGIST ATTEMPTS TO CLEAN OUT A TENDERLOIN CAFE”; and “CARTER WATSON KNOCKED OUT BY PATSY HORAN IN THREE ROUNDS.”