A big crowd had gathered when the arrest was made, and Jimmy looked in
vain among the throng for some friendly person by whom he could send
word to Mr. Snowden of his plight He thought the manager might be able
to help him.

Then when the officer led him away quite a number of newsboys and
bootblacks followed. Reaching the precinct station-house, Jimmy was
taken inside and made to stand in front of the big brass railing
surrounding the desk, while the sergeant prepared to hear what the
policeman had to say.

"Here's a kid that upset the Italian's cart," explained the bluecoat.
"I seen him do it."

"Dat's a'right, Mr. Police," added the peddler. "He badda de boy.
Knocka alla de banan in de streeta."

"What's your name?" asked the sergeant, drawing the blotter, or slate,
toward him. On this were written the names of prisoners, and Jimmy,
who had often been in station-houses when men were locked up, knew what
was coming next.

"You're not going to lock me up, are you?" he asked.

"That's what we are," replied the sergeant. "This business of annoying
the Italians has got to stop." He was only carrying out the orders of
his superiors.

"But I didn't do it."

"Well, you can prove that to the judge in the morning and he'll let you
go."

"Sure he done it," repeated the policeman. "I seen him."

Which was true enough as far as it went. The officer was honestly
mistaken, as was the Italian. The sergeant wrote down Jimmy's name and
other information which the lad gave.

"Anybody go your bail?" and the sergeant looked up on asking the usual
question, for in such minor offenses as this he was empowered to take
bail for prisoners.

"If you could send to Mr. Snowden, manager of the Newsboys' Lodging
House, I'm sure he would," said Jimmy.

"Got any money to pay for a messenger?"

"Sure," and the newsboy hauled out a handful of change.

"All right," remarked the sergeant indifferently. "Doorman, lock him
up and then call a messenger for him."

Even though he was to be locked in a cell, Jimmy did not mind it so
much, now that there was a chance to get word to Mr. Snowden. He was
searched, his money being all that was returned to him, his knife and
some other possessions being retained by the sergeant until he should
be bailed or discharged. Then the doorman summoned a district
messenger boy, to whom Jimmy talked through the bars of his cell,
instructing him to inform Mr. Snowden what had happened and a