“Oh, I don’t know. He said something about going to get the military police. Let’s go.” The Lieutenant, turning to me, said, “It is all right. You may go and tell that man we said you were all right.”
I did not move, but stood at attention and saluted while the officers walked away.
I didn’t know who “that man” was, nor yet the name of “we,” but I didn’t care. Half an hour later “that man” arrived with English soldiers, or military police, headed by a newly made Corporal and a Scotch veteran who radiated intelligence with dignity and self-respect.
After walking, captive, a few minutes, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To the Base Court.”
I thought I was a sucker, playing the Butt-in-ski’s game. Throwing my back against the wall, I answered,—“If you want to take me to the Base Court, you will have to carry me.”
A long silence followed, and a crowd collected. The English corporal started to bluster. I demanded,—“What business have you to interfere with me?”
“We have orders to make you show your papers.”
“Who gave you those orders?”
The Corporal did not answer. The Scotchman turned to him and said,—“Who is that damned fool that is always getting us into trouble?”