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 regard the London police as mere human beings in blue.

"Please, sir; I wasn't begging," she said.

"Sellin' vi'lets is beggin'," said the policeman with all the conviction of a man who has an act of parliament behind his statement.

"But I'm not selling violets, not really. I'm only pretending to. I'm doing something for Captain Croome. He lives in Knightsbridge Barracks," Pollyooly protested.

"You can spin any yarn you want to the Inspector," said the policeman coldly incredulous. "You come along o' me."

There was plainly nothing else to be done; and Pollyooly and the Lump came along with him; and they had not gone very far before, in spite of the select and fashionable character of the neighborhood, five rude boys were coming along with them, too, and loudly discussing, in the least complimentary terms, Pollyooly's hair and the length of the term of imprisonment she would suffer.

Pollyooly was still undismayed, but she was bitterly mortified. This was no position for the housekeeper of the Honorable John Ruffin. She was glad