There
must be some way of explaining to the people in charge that he hadn't
done anything but kid a policeman--that he must get out.
He went over to the door and tried it tentatively--no inside doorknob, of
course, this wasn't a hotel. He looked through the bars--nothing but
corridor and the cell on the other side. Should he call? For an instant
the fantastic idea of crying "Waiter!" or "Please send up my breakfast!"
tugged at him hard, but fantasy had got him into much too much trouble as
it was, he reflected savagely. It made you feel ridiculously self-
conscious, standing behind bars like this and shouting into emptiness.
Still he had to get out. He cleared his throat.
"Hey," he remarked in a pleasant conversational tone. "Hey!"
No answer, he grew bolder.
_"Hey!"_ This time the conversational tone was italicized. A rustle of
voices somewhere rewarded him--that must be people talking. Well, if they
talked, they could listen.
"HEY!" and now his voice was emphatic enough for headline capitals.
The rustle of voices ceased. There was a moment of stupefied silence.
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