and deserted. Policeman Glynn came back, made a report at the desk, and paused beside the bench.
"Had any dinner?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Got any money? I'll send you in a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and you can pay the man when he brings it."
Bert said he was not hungry. Something in Policeman Glynn's gruff bearing told him of the officer's unspoken sympathy. "Will . . . will they send me to jail?" he asked.
"Well, now, I'm not saying you don't deserve it, but I don't see the use of worrying a kid who's plainly sorry for what he's done. The Judge doesn't usually send boys to the county jail."
Some of the load left Bert's heart. The clock said half-past four, and the short winter twilight was turning to night. Three and a half more hours to wait! He fell to thinking of his mother, and for the first time felt the sting of a tear. So that the sergeant might not see this sign of emotion he turned his head away.
And then a familiar voice fell upon his ear.
"Good evening, Sergeant. Have you a boy here named Quin . . ."
Bert jumped to his feet. "Mr. Woods."
The Butterfly Man crossed the room with half a dozen quick strides. "Bert, old man, I'm sorry to see you in a fix like this. I didn't think things would go this far. Bill Harrison saw you ar-
