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Updated: June 16, 2025
Among the men who for two hours had been sitting and talking quietly a quarrel broke out. Jack Fisher the town nightwatchman had been telling the others the story of a battle in which he had fought during the Civil War and Duke Yetter had begun bantering him. The nightwatchman grew angry. Grasping his nightstick he limped up and down.
Kelly's nightstick got his pneumonia gas jet, or whatever you call it. He's still quiet, in the station house You know old man Van Cleft, who owns sky-scrapers down town, don't you? Well, he's the center of this flying wedge of excitement. His family are fine people, I understand. His daughter was to be married next week.
Then followed another delay, without result. "Come, Miss Helene, there is method in this. Let us walk, as it seems to have been planned we should." "Is it wise? Why put yourself in their net?" For reply, he placed in her hand the walking stick which he had so carefully guarded when they entered the apartment. It was heavier than a policeman's nightstick.
One had to be very polite to large policemen. The politeness should, naturally, increase as the square of the policeman. "I wonder if you could tell me where my hotel is, officer?" Oliver began. "What hotel?" said the policeman uninterestedly. Oliver noticed with an inane distinctness that he had started to swirl his nightstick as a large blue cat might switch its tail.
Hollister a glancin' blow on the side of the bead. His next aim was better; but this time the nightstick didn't connect. There's been let loose a weird, high-pitched howl, which I didn't recognize at the time as the old Rebel yell, but know now that it was. Uncle Noah had gone into action. That walkin' stick of his was a second-growth hickory club as thick as your wrist at the big end.
By this time the excitement had been communicated to the next tenement in which lived Caleb Yates, the landlord of the two buildings. Yates, a sour-minded old man, lost no time dressing and coming over, armed with a nightstick. "What does this disturbance mean?" he demanded in a high-pitched voice. "Who broke this door in?" "We did," replied Tom boldly.
Maguire had barely reached the doorway of the saloon when a revolver shot rang out, and the red tongue licked his face. "Now we got 'im!" cried a voice. "Kill the rookie!" "That's Burke, all right!" Maguire felt a stinging sensation in his shoulder, and his nightstick dropped with a thud to the sidewalk. Three figures pounded upon him, and again the revolver spoke.
The policeman answered not a word, he simply pushed past the boy and went down first; Hamilton followed, and the reporter came next. At the bottom of the stair the policeman rapped on a door with his nightstick, a good loud rap. It was opened, and he strode in, followed by the two boys.
A large blue policeman is looking at him fixedly from the other side of the street, his nightstick twirling in a very prepared sort of way. For an instant Oliver sees himself going over and asking that policeman for his helmet to play with.
Such a calamity as this had never entered into his calculations of the evils which might overtake him, and it overwhelmed him utterly. A policeman touched him with his nightstick, and spoke to him kindly enough, but the boy only backed away from the man until he was out of his reach, and then ran on again, slipping and stumbling on the ice and snow.
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