That night Jimmy attended a show, and treated himself to a lonely dinner
afterward. He should have liked very much to have looked up some of his
friends. A telephone call would have brought invitations to dinner and a
pleasant evening with convivial companions, but he had mapped his course
and he was determined to stick to it to the end.

"There will be plenty of time," he thought, "for amusement after I have
gotten a good grasp of my new duties." Jimmy elected to walk from the
theater to his hotel, and as he was turning the corner from Randolph
into La Salle a young man jostled him. An instant later the stranger was
upon his knees, his wrist doubled suddenly backward and very close to
the breaking-point.

"Wot t' hell yuh doin'?" he screamed.

"Pardon me," replied Jimmy: "you got your hand in the wrong pocket. I
suppose you meant to put it in your own, but you didn't."

"Aw, g'wan; lemme go," pleaded the stranger. "I didn't get nuthin'--
you ain't got the goods on me."

Now, such a tableau as Jimmy and his new acquaintance formed cannot be
staged at the corner of Randolph and La Salle beneath an arc light, even
at midnight, without attracting attention. And so it was that before
Jimmy realized it a dozen curious pedestrians were approaching them from
different directions, and a burly blue-coated figure was shouldering his
way forward.

Jimmy had permitted his captive to rise, but he still held tightly to
his wrist as the officer confronted them. He took one look at Jimmy's