County Detective Spotson was quick to sense the situation.  Taking Pee-wee roughly by the shoulder he demanded in that sophisticated voice and manner which all detectives acquire and which sometimes passes for shrewdness, “What’s the big idea, huh?  Tipped them on, did you?  Well, you’re a very clever kid, ain’t you?” He removed his big hand from Pee-wee’s shoulder and injected his fingers down the back of the boy’s neck, grabbing him by the collar and gathering it so that it almost choked him.

This terrifying grip, which is always intended to be considered as the preliminary of arrest, did not frighten Pee-wee as it would have frightened Keekie Joe, but it touched his pride and enraged him, and he wriggled frantically.  There is no indignity which can be put upon a boy like this bullying, official grip of his collar.

“You let me go,” he said excitedly; “I wasn’t playing here and you didn’t see me do anything wrong; you let me go, do you hear!” His utter helplessness, despite every contortion, to free himself from this degrading kind of grasp, drove him distracted and he kicked with all his might and main. “You let me go, do you hear!” he shouted.

“Well, what were you doing here then, huh?” the officer asked gruffly.  “Yer gave’m the tip, didn’t yer?”

“You let go, I’m not going to run away,” Pee-wee said.  “Do you think I’m scared of you?  You let me go!”

“Do yer know what an accessory is?” Detective Spotson demanded, loosening his grip somewhat.

“It’s something you buy to put on an automobile,” Pee-wee said.  “You let go, I’m not going to run.”

Detective Spotson, like Keekie Joe, trusted nobody.  But since he had no intention of arresting Pee-wee and since the diminutive captive seemed rather angered than frightened, he released his hold.  By a series of wriggles and contortions, Pee-wee adjusted his clothing and settled his neck in his stretched neckband.  “Why don’t—­why—­why don’t you take a—­a—­a feller your size?” he half cried and half panted.

The officers now began to have some glimmerings of the fact that here was a boy who did not belong in Barrel Alley.  They were a little taken aback by the exhibition of so much pride and spirit.  The customary, ominous grip of the collar had not worked.

“What were you doing down here, Sonny?” Detective Slippett asked.

“I came down to hunt for fellers to start a scout patrol,” Pee-wee said, “and one feller was laying keekie for cops and he had to go home so I took his place, because he had to keep his word with those fellers, didn’t he?  Maybe you wouldn’t promise fellers to do that but, gee whiz, if you did promise them you’d have to keep your word, wouldn’t you?  If he sees I help him maybe he’ll get to be a scout, won’t he?  Do you mean to tell me it isn’t more important to be a scout than it is to let fellers get to be arrested?  Even—­even Roosevelt said the scouts were important, but he didn’t say it was important you should catch fellers, did he?”