Eugene did not know the meaning of despicability; but he saw the mischievous glitter in the sergeant’s eye, and he suspected that there was a joke somewhere. “Suppose I refuse to go,” he said with much calmness and deliberation.
“I’d pick up your little French figure, and put it under my arm, and you’d be in jail in no time,” said the sergeant.
“So I am to go to prison,” said Eugene.
“Yes, sir—private jail, permitted through the clemency of the law.”
Eugene smiled a little wearily, then he eyed the sergeant all over. He had penetration enough to discover that the man had come there with the determination of taking him away, and he knew that he might as well yield first as last.
“I surrender,” he said grandly; “may I ask you, Mr. Officer, until when I am to be in prison?”
“Six weeks,” said the sergeant promptly.
“Will you show me the warrant for my arrest?” said Eugene.
The sergeant hesitated, then he thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a little wet handkerchief.