The horrified gent drew himself up stiffly: tried to push the obnoxious plumber away... The workman had now reached that stage of drunkenness when discussions tend to become interminable.

The gentleman pushed the drunken oaf aside, saying:

“Come! Come! Go away!... Leave me alone!” But the maudlin plumber was attracting the attention of passers with his gesturing. He addressed the world at large: “Would you believe it – that fellow there don’t want me to sing!... No! Well, I’m going to anyway!” and he started triumphantly.

“It’s the – the – final ... strug-gle!”

A policeman came out of the station with a solemn air. He put his hand on the soused plumber’s shoulder in paternal fashion.

“Go along with you, my friend!... Come now – move along – move along!” But he could not make the plumber budge before he had finished his verse, any more than he could teach him to walk straight on the spur of the moment!... Leaving hold of the gentleman’s coat tails, the worthy plumber seized the policeman’s arm.

“Oh, you, you’re a brother!... I have education, I have! You’re a workman too, I know!”

As the police inspector pushed him off, trying to make him go on his way, the plumber put his arm round him.

“No! No!... show you’re a workman! Sing with me! It’s the final... ”

The scandal could no longer be tolerated!

Streetcorner idlers were gathering, people were laughing at the policeman: strong measures were necessary.

“Come now,” said the policeman. “Yes, or no! Will you be off, and go home?... Eh! . . Or shall I take you to the station?”

“You take me?... You take me?... Why it would take four of you to take me!”

There was no more delaying after that! Wounded in his vanity, the servant of the law did not hesitate.

“All right then!” he said; and seizing the plumber by the collar, although there was no attempt at resistance, he dragged his prisoner roughly towards the town hall of the district, for the police station was there also.

“Some more filth for the Dépôt!” said the policeman as he passed the guard... “A drunk I can’t get rid of! Are the cells full up?”

Other policemen came up. An arrest in a peaceful district adds interest to the dull routine of the men on duty.

“The cell’s full? Go along with you! There’s only a small shop-keeper who had no papers.”

Thereupon the unfortunate singer, who continued to stagger about, was quickly pushed into the dark cell called “the detention room”.

An ordinary everyday incident of the streets, this arrest of a drunkard!

“I shall have to write out a report for this fellow,” said the policeman, who had arrested the songster; “and the prison van comes by in an hour’s time! I shall just make it!”