There was a sound of drums about it. The
round brass handle turned. The door pushed open, and in the empty
space appeared--the Policeman.
"Good evening," he said in a heavy, uncompromising way. He looked
enormous, framed there by the open gate, the white road behind him
like a sheet. He looked very blue--a great towering shadow against the
sunlight. It was very clear that he _knew_ he was a policeman and
could think of nothing else. He was dressed up for the part, and
received many shillings a week from a radculgovunment to look like
that. It would have been a dereliction of duty to forget it. He was
stuffed with duty. His brass buttons shone.
"Good _evening_," he repeated, as no one spoke.
"_Good_ evening," replied Uncle Felix calmly. The Policeman
accentuated the word "evening," but Uncle Felix emphasised the
adjective "good." From the very beginning the two men disagreed. "This
is private property, very private indeed. We are having tea, in fact,
privately, upon our own land."
"No property is private," returned the Policeman, "and to the Law no
thing nor person either."
For a moment the children felt afraid.
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