Miette clung to Dorothy’s skirt—the constable had taken Urania by the arm. She struggled to get away, and no doubt would have given the officer a lively chase could she have freed herself from his hold.
“I must telegraph my aunt,” declared Dorothy, as they reached the platform.
“Office is closed,” said the constable, looking into the ticket office that was really deserted.
“Oh, what shall I do?” wailed Dorothy, now dreadfully alarmed at their plight.
“Don’t you worry, little girl. I’ll see that nothing happens to you,” said the gentleman who had left the train with them.
“I can’t see the necessity,” interfered the constable. “I’m a regular officer of the law, and I guess I’m about able to take care of a little thing like this.”
“No doubt,” replied the other, “but even an officer of the law may—overstep his authority. Have you a warrant for any one of these little girls?”
Dorothy looked her thanks, but the constable did not give her a chance to speak.
“Perhaps that will satisfy you,” said the officer, handing the man a paper.
The gentleman glanced at it—then looked at Urania.