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At the mouth of the alley that led from a side street to the rear of
the jail, the policeman plucked at Hedin's sleeve, and turned in.
Mechanically Hedin fell in beside him. Someone passed upon the street.
"See who that was?" asked the officer maliciously, for he knew all the
town gossip. Hedin scarcely heard the question. "It was McNabb's gal.
Her throwin' you over fer this here Wentworth didn't give you no
license to steal her old man's fur coat, all right--but maybe you ain't
so onlucky, at that. Folks says she's all right--a little gay an' the
like of that--but runnin' the streets at midnight, like she was a
Saturday, with a guy that goes after 'em like Wentworth! Call it gay
if they want to, but if it was anyone but old McNabb's daughter, they'd
be callin' it somethin' else."
Smash! Hedin's fist drove with terrific force into the flappy jaw, and
the big officer reeled, and crashed into the snow between a row of ash
barrels, and a dilapidated board fence. The young man stared in
surprise as he waited for the other to regain his feet. The officer's
words had roused a sudden flash of fury, and with nerves already
strained to the breaking point, he had struck. But the man,
grotesquely sprawled behind the barrels, made no move.
Hedin glanced up and down the alley. It was empty. He was free!
Swiftly he proceeded down the alley, passed the jail, and turned into
the street.
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