"I'll have my say to the judge," said Warburton.

"That's yer own affair. Come."

Once outside, Warburton lost color and a large part of his
nonchalance; for an open patrol stood at the curb.

"Have I got to ride in that?"--disgustedly.

"As true as life; an' if ye make any disturbance, so much th' worse."

Warburton climbed in, his face red with shame and anger. He tied his
handkerchief around his chin and tilted his hat far down over his
eyes.

"'Fraid of meetin' some of yer swell friends, hey? Ten t' one, yer a
swell an' was runnin' away with th' wrong woman. Mind, I have an eye
on ye."

The patrol rumbled over the asphalt on the way down-town. Warburton
buried his face in his hands. Several times they passed a cigar-
store, and his mouth watered for a good cigar, the taste of a clear
Havana.

He entered the police-court, not lacking in curiosity. It was his
first experience with this arm of the civil law. He wasn't sure that
he liked it. It wasn't an inviting place with its bare benches and
its motley, tawdry throng. He was plumped into a seat between some
ladies of irregular habits, and the stale odor of intoxicants,