Shirley
pounced upon his mate, and after a slight tussle, applied the
handkerchief with the same benumbing effect. Then he rolled it
up and tossed it far from him.
He took a police whistle from his pocket and blew it three times.
His assailants lay quietly on the ground, so that when the
officer arrived he found an immaculately garbed gentleman dusting
off his coat shoulder, and looking at his watch.
"What is it, sir?" he cried.
"A couple of drunks attacked me, after I wouldn't give them a
handout. Then they passed away. You won't need my complaint
--look at them--"
The policeman shook the men, but they seemed helpless except to
groan and hold their heads in mute agony, dull and apparently
unaware of what was going on about them.
"Well, if you don't want to press the charge of assault?"
"No. I may have it looked up by my attorney. Tonight I do not
care to take my wife to the stationhouse with me. They ought to
get thirty days, at that."
Shirley took Helene's arm, and the officer nodded.
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