some fresh lip? Why didn't you bend a chair over his knob? That would have rattled him up some. My old man was a great hand at cleaning up a gang with a chair."
Bert's eyes besought the guardian of the law, and Policeman Glynn stuck his club persuasively into Peg's ribs.
"Run along," he commanded. "Nobody sent for you. When we want your advice we'll ask for it."
Peg made haste to drop back among the crowd. The incident was not without its effect on Bert. Bill Harrison had shunned him. Peg Scudder, town bully and loafer, drunkard and general no-account, saw in his arrest a claim to brotherhood.
A vision of a barred cell came to Bert as he entered the municipal building. Policeman Glynn led him down a small corridor and turned in through a door to the left. A sergeant in uniform was behind a long high desk down at one end and along one wall was a board heavily tacked with circulars advertising the features and histories of criminals wanted in different parts of the country. Bert hastily turned his eyes away from the board.
The sergeant, writing in a big book, lifted his head. "What's the charge, Officer?"
"Assault and battery," said Policeman Glynn.
The words had a sinister sound. Bert hung his head; but not before the sergeant had peered over the top of the high desk and had noted him.
