“Oh, you didn’t, eh? I s’pose you wanter make out that somebody wound you up, and you couldn’t help yourself? I’ve had my eye on you, young feller, for a good many weeks, and don’t believe you’ll trouble me any more.”
“It couldn’t have been so long as that,” Josiah replied almost boldly, now that his presence of mind was returning. “I didn’t get inter the city till last Monday, so I reckon you must have made a mistake. Besides, I’m goin’ home to-morrow.”
“I hardly believe you will. If you don’t get a chance in the Reformatory this time, it’ll be odd. You can’t play off that old dodge ’bout not livin’ in the city, with me; I’ve known you too long.”
“But it’s the truth, all the same;” and fancying he was mistaken for some other boy, Josiah’s alarm increased once more.
The word “reformatory” had an ugly sound to him; and instantly it had been uttered there came into his mind a picture of a horrible dungeon which he, loaded with chains, would occupy for an indefinite time.
Even had he been disposed to say anything more, there was no opportunity for him to do so.
The man pulled him roughly along by the coat collar in such a manner as to cause him considerable discomfort and no little pain, and he felt that it would be many weeks, perhaps years, before he again saw Berry’s Corner.
The officer and his prisoner had hardly got a dozen yards from the battle-field when Josiah’s friends came in sight, taking good care, however, to remain at a respectful distance from the policeman, who made several attempts as if to capture them.
“Don’t be afraid, we’ll see you out of the scrape,” Josiah heard Bob cry; and from that time until they reached the station-house, he was followed by similar injunctions from different members of the party, each of whom seemed to consider the words necessary, in order that the prisoner might not lose courage.