An hour later an officer came and unbolted his door from the outside. “Hurry up,” he said; “Maria's waiting.”
“Maria?” repeated Lemuel innocently.
“Yes,” returned the officer. “Other name's Black. She don't like to wait. Come out of here.”
Lemuel found himself in the corridor with four or five other prisoners, whom some officers took in charge and conducted upstairs to the door of the station. He saw no woman, but a sort of omnibus without windows was drawn up at the curbstone.
“I thought,” he said to an officer, “that there was a lady waiting to see me. Maria Black,” he added, seeing that the officer did not understand.
The policeman roared, and could not help putting his head in at the office door to tell the joke.
“Well, you must introduce him,” called a voice from within.
“Guess you ha'n't got the name exactly straight, young man,” said the policeman to Lemuel, as he guarded him down the steps. “It's Black Maria you're looking for. There she is,” he continued, pointing to the omnibus, “and don't you forget it. She's particular to have folks recognise her. She's blacker 'n she's painted.”
The omnibus was, in fact, a sort of aesthetic drab, relieved with salmon, as Lemuel had time to notice before he was hustled into it with the other prisoners, and locked in.
There were already several there, and as Lemuel's eyes accustomed themselves to the light that came in through the little panes at the sides of the roof, he could see that they were women; and by and by he saw that two of them were the saucy girls who had driven him from his seat in the Common that day, and laughed so at him. They knew him too, and one of them set up a shrill laugh. “Hello, Johnny! That you? You don't say so? What you up for this time? Going down to the Island? Well, give us a call there! Do be sociable! Ward 11's the address.” The other one laughed, and then swore at the first for trying to push her off the seat.