Wyeth was shocked beyond speech. Evidently, he had not as yet come to appreciate that he was otherwise than on the Rosebud. "Where you been, nigger?" came the terrible voice once more.
Wyeth woke up. Moreover, he became obviously frightened. He replied—and lo! He was trembling also, as he cried:
"What do you mean, Mr. Policeman!" He was now wild-eyed. "I'm not breaking the law; I have done nothing; I am on the way to my room and to bed. Why do you hold me up this way. I don't think I am obliged to answer such questions as you ask; but I have been calling, I cannot see that it matters where, since—"
"Aw don't talk to the man lak dat," whimpered the chauffeur.
"I'll knock your damned head off, nigger! What'n Hell's got int' you to talk to a white man like that!" He turned his face to the other who had not, up to then, said anything, and said: "Let's arrest them!" The other acquiesced. "Come on!" he roared, grabbing the chauffeur by the belt of his trousers, and whirling him about. The other caught Sidney likewise, but was more civil in the act.
"Good Lord, Mister," said he to his cop, "why are you arresting us? We have done nothing!"
"Got orders to pick up everybody after one o'clock who looks suspicious, and cannot give good accounts of themselves," he replied soberly.
"I wish I had known it," Wyeth sighed wearily; "but I'm at least glad that I didn't have him lead me," he said, pointing to the cop who had the chauffeur.
"You made him mad," grinned the patrolman. "You must not live here?"
"No, Lord, and I wish at this moment I had never come."