a careful examination of the sauce.
“After all,” he said meditatively, “I am not sure that I was wise in insisting upon a sauce piquante. I beg your pardon, Mr. Horser. Please do not think me inattentive, but I am very hungry. So, I believe, is my friend, Mr. Skinner. Will you not join us—or perhaps you have already dined?”
There was an ugly flush in Mr. Horser’s cheeks, but he struggled to keep his composure.
“Will you give me back that report?”
“When I have read it, with pleasure,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Before, no.”
Mr. Horser swallowed an exceedingly vicious oath. He struck the table lightly with his forefinger.
“Look here,” he said. “If you’d lived in New York a couple of years, even a couple of months, you wouldn’t talk like that. I tell you that I hold the government of this city in my right hand. I don’t want to be unpleasant, but if that paper is not in my hands by the time you leave this table I shall have you arrested as you leave this room, and the papers taken from you.”
“Dear me,” Mr. Sabin said, “this is serious. On what charge may I ask should I be exposed to this inconvenience?”
“Charge be damned!” Mr. Horser answered. “The police don’t want particulars from me. When I say do a thing they do it. They know that if they declined it would be their last day on the force.”
Mr. Sabin filled his glass and leaned back in his chair.
“This,” he remarked, “is interesting. I am always glad to have the opportunity of gaining an insight into the customs of different countries. I had an idea that America was a country remarkable for the amount of liberty enjoyed by its inhabitants. Your proposed course of action seems scarcely in keeping with this.”
“What are you going to do? Come, I’ve got to have an answer.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Mr. Sabin remarked, with a puzzled look, “what your official position is in connection with the police.”
Mr. Horser’s face was a very ugly
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