"Got to go through the mill this
time. But if it ain't right, you can make it right."
Another officer had answered the bell, and the captain indicated
with a comprehensive roll of his head that he was to take Lemuel
away and lock him up.
"Oh, my!" moaned the boy. As they passed the door of a small room
opening on an inner corridor, a smell of coffee gushed out of it;
the officer stopped, and Lemuel caught sight of two gentlemen in the
room with a policeman, who was saying----
"Get a cup of coffee here when we want it. Try one?" he suggested
hospitably.
"No, thank you," said one of the gentlemen, with the bland
respectfulness of people being shown about an institution. "How many
of you are attached to this station?"
"Eighty-one," said the officer. "Largest station in town. Gang goes
on at one in the morning, and another at eight, and another at six
P.M." He looked inquiringly at the officer in charge of Lemuel.
"Any matches?" asked this officer.
"Everything but money," said the other, taking some matches out of
his waistcoat pocket.
Lemuel's officer went ahead, lighting the gas along the corridor,
and the boy followed, while the other officer brought up the rear
with the visitor whom he was lecturing. They passed some neat rooms,
each with two beds in it, and he answered some question: "Tramps?
Not much! Give _them_ a _board_ when they're drunk; send 'em round to
the Wayfarers' Lodge when they're sober.
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