"Yes sir."

Gravely they shook hands. "Watch the place, kid," said Jake. "I got to
make a phone call."

In the morning, Jake dressed for business and insisted that Jimmy put on
his best to make a good impression. After breakfast, they set out. Jake
parked in front of a granite building.

"This isn't any bank," objected Jimmy. "This is a police station."

"Sure," responded Jake. "Here's where we get you an identification card.
Don't you know?"

"Okay," said Jimmy dubiously.

Inside the station there were a number of men in uniform and in plain
clothing. Jake strode forward, holding Jimmy by one small hand. They
approached the sergeant's desk and Jake lifted Jimmy up and seated him on
one edge of the desk with his feet dangling.

The sergeant looked at them with interest but without surprise.

"Sergeant," said Jake, "this is Jimmy James--as he calls himself when
he's writing stories. Otherwise he is James Quincy Holden."

Jimmy went cold all over.

Jake backed through the circle that was closing in; the hole he made was
filled by Paul Brennan.