you. I got to think. I got to eat. You lea' me alone."
"It's the Law," said the little policeman, coming no farther. "We never made the Law."
"Nor me," said young Caddles. "Your little people made all that before I was born. You and your law! What I must and what I mustn't. No food for me to eat unless I work and slave, no rest, no shelter, nothin', and you tell me———"
"I ain't got no business with that," said the policeman. "I'm not one to argue. All I got to do is to carry out the law." And he brought his second leg over the wall and seemed disposed to get down. Other policemen appeared behind him.
"I got no quarrel with you—mind," said young Caddles, with his grip tight upon his huge mace of iron, his face pale, and a lank explanatory great finger to the policeman. "I got no quarrel with you. But—You lea' me alone."
The policeman tried to be calm and commonplace, with a monstrous tragedy clear before his eyes. "Give me the proclamation," he said to some unseen follower, and a little white paper was handed to him.
"Lea' me alone," said Caddles, scowling, tense, and drawn together.
"This means," said the policeman before he read, "go 'ome. Go 'ome to your chalk pit. If not, you'll be hurt."
Caddles gave an inarticulate growl.
Then when the proclamation had been read, the officer made a sign. Four men with rifles came into view and took up positions of affected ease along the
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