“Bah!” said the lady, “you’re like all the men; you’ve got no sense. What I mean is a patriotic song.”
Therefore, “Rule Britannia” from the cornet to the great content of the beanfeasters and of the two or three constables, looking on at the scene good-naturedly. A hat went round before the party re-ascended the brakes, and Bobbie found himself in possession of a load of coppers that weighed him down on one side until he bethought himself of the ingenious plan of dividing them and placing one half in each pocket of his trousers. He saw the brakes depart, and was about to leave when he found his arm seized violently.
“I’ve got him,” shrieked Master Niedermann fiercely. “I thought I should find him. Evil doers never succeed for long. I was sure—”
“Leggo my arm,” said Bobbie.
“Likely thing,” screamed the long youth satirically, “after I’ve took all this trouble to find you. Gimme back my frock coat! Gimme back my frock-coat, that you pinched from me! Gimme back—”
One of the constables stepped forward. What was all this about?
“Sergeant,” cried Master Niedermann flatteringly, “thank goodness you’re ’ere. You’ll see that right’s done. He’s robbed me of my best frock-coat, and I want it back.”
“It’s a lie,” declared Bobbie. “Fact of the matter is—”
“Accuses me now,” said the estimable youth, with a pained air, “of telling a falsehood. Why, I couldn’t tell a falsehood, and well you know it, inspector.”
Constable begged to say that he knew nothing of the kind. Let the boy tell his tale.