en on the force three months.

"He's one of the most artful crooks I ever met," said Morris. "You'd
swear he was a countryman."

"So I be," insisted Joshua. "I came from Barton, up Elmira way, and
I've never been in the city before."

"Hear him!" said Morris, laughing heartily. "Ask him his name."

"My name's Joshua Bascom, and I go to the Baptist church reg'lar--just
write and ask Parson Peabody, and he'll tell you I'm perfectly
respectable."

"My friend," said Morris, "you can't fool an experienced officer by any
such rigmarole. He can read you like a book."

"Of course I can," said the policeman, who felt the more flattered by
this tribute because he was really a novice. "As this gentleman says, I
knew you to be a crook the moment I set eyes on you."

They turned the corner of Thirtieth Street on their way to the station
house. Poor Joshua felt keenly the humiliation and disgrace of his
position. It would be in all the papers, he had no doubt, for all such
items got into the home papers, and he would not dare show his face in
Barton again.

"Am I going to jail?" he asked with keen anguish.

"You'll land there shortly," said Morris.

"But I hain't done a thing."

"Is it necessary for me to go in?" asked Ferdinand Morris, with
considerable uneasiness, for he feared to be recognized by some older
member of the force.

"Certainly." replied the policeman, "you must enter a complaint against
this man."

Morris peered into the station house, but saw no officer likely to
remember him, so he summoned up all his audacity and followed the
policeman and his prisoner inside. There happened to be no other case
ahead, so Joshua was brought forward.

"What has this man done?" asked the sergeant.

"Stolen a ring from this gentleman here," answered the policeman.

"Was the ring found on his person?"

"No, sergeant. He has not been searched."

"Search me if you want to. You won't find anything," said Joshua.

"He has probably thrown it away," said Ferdinand Morris, _sotto voce._

"No, I hain't."

"What is your name, sir?" asked the sergeant, addressing Morris.

"My name is Clarence Hale," answered Morris, boldly, taking the name of
a young man of respectable family whom he had met casually.

"Where do you live?"

"On Fourth Avenue, sir, near Eleventh Street."

"Do you swear that this man stole your ring?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"In front of the Standard Theater."

"How could he do it?" continued