usly at his gloves. He was in very
bad humor. The policeman at the Mulberry Street door got hardly a nod
for his cheery "Merry Christmas" as he passed.

"Wonder what's crossed him," he said, looking down the street after
him.

The green lamps were lighted and shone upon the hurrying six o'clock
crowds from the Broadway shops. In the great business buildings the
iron shutters were pulled down and the lights put out, and in a little
while the reporters' boys that carried slips from Headquarters to the
newspaper offices across the street were the only tenants of the
block. A stray policeman stopped now and then on the corner and tapped
the lamp-post reflectively with his club as he looked down the
deserted street and wondered, as his glance rested upon the Chief's
darkened windows, how it felt to have six thousand dollars a year and
every night off. In the Detective Office the Sergeant who had come in
at roll-call stretched himself behind the desk and thought of home.
The lights of a Christmas tree in the abutting Mott Street tenement
shone through his window, and the laughter of children mingled with
the tap of the toy drum. He pulled down the sash in order to hear
better. As he did so, a strong draught swept his desk. The outer door
slammed. Two detectives came in bringing a prisoner between them. A
woman accompanied them.

The Sergeant pulled the blotter toward him mechanically and dipped his
pen.

"What's the charge?" he asked.

"Picking pockets in Fourteenth Street. This lady is the complainant,
Mrs. ----"

The name was that of a well-known police magistrate. The Sergeant
looked up and bowed. His glance took in the prisoner, and a look of
recognition came into his face.

"What, Bill! So soon?" he said.

The prisoner was sullenly silent. He answered the questions put to him
briefly, and was searched. The stolen pocket-book, a small paper
package, and a crumpled letter were laid upon the desk. The Sergeant
saw only the pocket-book.

"Looks bad," he said with wrinkled brow.

"We caught him at it," explained the officer. "Guess Bill has lost
heart. He didn't seem to care. Didn't even try to get away."

The prisoner was taken to a cell. Silence fell once more upon the
office. The Sergeant made a few red lines in the blotter and resumed
his reveries. He was not in a mood for work. He hitched his chair
nearer the window and looked across the yard. But the lights there
were put out, the children's laughter had