The "possy" seemed to consist of Eb himself, the men who were
guarding us,--five or six of them--and Gregory the Gauger. I
never found out just what office he held, but he was clearly the
most important man of the lot,--except Eb. The constable leaned
his pitchfork against the wall, lighted one or two lamps, sat down
behind a desk and put on a pair of spectacles. Then he jerked his
head, as if to beckon, toward the banjo-player.

"Name?" said he, picking up a pen.

"My name is Warren Sprague," said the man.

"Occupation?"

"I suppose you would call me a student."

"Don't yer know that yer was disturbin' the peace--"

"Contrary to statoot," put in Gregory the Gauger.

"Shut up, Mose!" said the constable.

"I thought that the peace was pretty well disturbed already," said
the banjo-player,-"there was so much noise in the street that it
woke us all up. I couldn't sleep,--none of us could sleep, and I
didn't see any harm in playing a tune. Whose peace could I
disturb?"

"Looky here, young feller, it won't do yer any good to get flip!"