"Come with me, then," said the officer. "We'll look into this."

He took Ralph by the arm and marched him back to the corner of Third
and Main Streets, followed by an increasing retinue of street Arabs,
both white and black.

When Mr. Quigg saw the officer he shook his fist at Ralph.

"Couldn't you keep yourself out of trouble?" he demanded.

"Why didn't you tell me that the walls were not free?" retorted Ralph.
"I was told I had no right to post bills anywhere, and this man says I
ought to have a license."

The artist assumed an air of injured innocence.

"Didn't I tell you to go straight to the city hall and procure my
license?"

"No; you didn't," said the boy, angered at this barefaced attempt to
place him in a false position.

"You told me to go out and paste up these bills, and you didn't say a
word about license or anything else."

"That's what I get for picking up a lad I know nothing about," remarked
Quigg, turning to the officer, with a shrug and uplifted eyebrows. "He
crept into my car night before last when I was asleep, and being sorry
for him I gave him some work. And now he gets me into this scrape."