He sat with a darkling face, gnawing at his knuckles and looking down over London. All the fatigue, worry, perplexity, and impotent wath of his wanderings was coming to a head in him. "They mean nothing," he whispered. "They mean nothing. And they _won't_ let me alone, and they _will_ get in my way." And again, over and over to himself, "Meanin' nothing.
"Ugh! the little people!"
He bit harder at his knuckles and his scowl deepened. "Cuttin' chalk for 'em," he whispered. "And all the world is theirs! _I_ don't come in--nowhere."
Presently with a spasm of sick anger he saw the now familiar form of a policeman astride the garden wall.
"Lea' me alone," grunted the giant. "Lea' me alone."
"I got to do my duty," said the little policeman, with a face that was white and resolute.
"You lea' me alone. I got to live as well as you. I got to think. I got to eat. You lea' me alone."
"It's the Law," said the little policeman, coming no further. "We never made the Law."
"Nor me," said young Caddies. "You 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 a 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 h
