Bridget had gone home. Virtue Ann was putting on the table the bread and chocolate that was to compose Eugene’s frugal meal, and the boy himself was sitting in a dull fashion by the window in so deep a revery that he did not hear the door-bell ring, and did not see Sergeant Hardy come into the room.
He only started, and looked up when the words, “At your service, sir,” uttered in deep voice, fell upon his ear.
At them he roused himself, and rose to his feet; but the sergeant neither bowed nor offered to shake hands with him in a friendly way as he usually did. His only greeting besides the words that he had spoken was a military salute. Then he stood stiffly against the wall as if waiting for something.
“Will you sit down?” asked Eugene.
“Against orders,” said the sergeant. “I’ve come to arrest you.”
“To arrest me,” repeated Eugene wonderingly; “what is it that I have done?”
“Warrant for arrest on two charges,” said the sergeant.
“Will you mention them,” asked Eugene frigidly, and yet politely, for he had great respect for any one in authority.
“First charge,” said the sergeant abruptly, “disdainful despicability of my wife’s affections; second charge, murderous and malicious designs against your own precious and peculiar self.”