“If you take off his tie you’ll find ‘Jones & Dawson, Melbourne,’ branded on it,” he said.
“Eh, but it’s so,” said the inspector, examining the adornment in question, which the native policemen had swiftly removed from the prisoner’s collarless neck. “Wull ye be wantin’ it back?”
“I will not,” said Jim, hastily. “Give it to him, with my blessing when he comes out—and I hope you won’t be hard on him, sir.”
“H’m. Ye’re a fulish young man,” said the inspector, severely. “Just because ye’ve got in a bonny wee hit on the jaw, ye’re satisfied—but there’s law an’ order to be kept, an’ me to see it’s done. D’ye think I want the next pair of eejiotic young Australians laid out in a stable?” Whereat Jim and Wally blushed, and interceded for the prisoner no more.
They signed various legal documents, and at length escaped.
“I don’t want him punished, poor wretch,” said Jim; “that smite on the jaw made me feel like a Christian lamb. But I suppose it’s got to be done.”
“Well, I didn’t get in at all, so I don’t feel half so godly,” returned Wally. “I think he’s well out of the way, and I only wish we’d caught his mate—the gentleman who attended to my head in the rear.”
“My sentiments, entirely,” Mr. Linton remarked. “And now we’ll get back to the ship. I trust every port isn’t going to supply us with as many sensations as Durban!”