I tried to look like an orthodox police constable in a scrape.
"Please, sir," said I in French, "I gave you my word I'd be good for six months, and I've been too frightfully good. The time was up, sir, on Monday."
"But my parrot?"
"I thrashed the man who did that."
"Who?"
"Dunno, sir."
"I see. You can not betray a comrade. Still, I should like to know. It was so mean."
"You'll know, sir. He'll be the first deserter. We're driving him out of the force."
"My boys don't hate me, then?"
I couldn't answer. He had brought up tears which I had to swallow, for we loved him.