"I haven't done anything," said Lemuel, submitting, as he must, and
in his surprise and terror losing the strength his wrath had given
him. He could scarcely drag his feet over the pavement, and the
policeman had almost to carry him at arm's length.
A crowd had gathered about them, and was following Lemuel and his
captor, but they fell back when they reached the steps of the
police-station, and Lemuel was pulled up alone, and pushed in at the
door. He was pushed through another door, and found himself in a
kind of office. A stout man in his shirt-sleeves was sitting behind
a desk within a railing, and a large book lay open on the desk. This
man, whose blue waistcoat with brass buttons marked him for some
sort of officer, looked impersonally at Lemuel and then at the
officer, while he chewed a quill toothpick, rolling it in his lips.
"What have you got there?" he asked.
"Assaulting a girl down here, and grabbing her satchel," said the
officer who had arrested Lemuel, releasing his collar and going to
the door, whence he called, "You come in here, lady," and a young
girl, her face red with weeping and her hair disordered, came back
with him. She held a crumpled straw hat with the brim torn loose,
and in spite of her disordered looks she was very pretty, with blue
eyes flung very wide open, and rough brown hair, wavy and cut short,
almost like a boy's.
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