When we were in the street Scoop gave me half of the handbills.
“You take the east side of town,” he instructed, “and I’ll take the west side. Leave a handbill at each house; and where you see a woman on her porch, or standing in her doorway, take off your cap and be very polite, so that she will have a good opinion of us. If she asks you any questions about our show, give her a nice little spiel.”
I had been at work for possibly thirty minutes when suddenly I heard my name called. Turning quickly, and looking into the street, I saw Scoop in the back seat of an automobile. A uniformed policeman was seated beside him. Jimmy Stricker and the Watson kid shared the front seat with the driver. Bid was hanging to the car’s side, riding on the running-board.
“You’re goin’ to catch it!” he yipped at me, screwing up his face in a mean way. [[92]]
My heart sank. For I realized that my chum was under arrest. And, plainly, it was the policeman’s intention to arrest me, too.
For an instant I thought of taking to my heels and running away. But I didn’t do that. I had done nothing to justify arrest. So why should I play the coward and run away, to be reminded of it ever afterwards by the hated Strickers? Besides, it wasn’t right to desert my chum.
Jumping out of the car, the policeman clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“You’re under arrest, young feller,” he growled. [[93]]