Again, a gardener, whom I knew, was put in jail for being drunk and
disorderly. On going to the place some time later I found the man still
imprisoned. "Why," I asked, "for such a small offence"? "We found," was
the answer, "that when sober he was such a good workman that we could
not spare him from the job of cleaning the stables."
On the other hand, a friend of mine was dissatisfied with the policeman
he had, and sent the sergeant into the township to exchange him for
another. The man returned with a particularly villainous-looking
specimen, and when asked where he had got him, explained that the Chief
of Police had told him to look among the prisoners for a suitable man,
give him a uniform and take him.
"I thought this was the best of them; but they all wanted to come," he
concluded ingenuously.
Another commissary in the north of this country flattered himself on his
revolver-shooting, and used to perform the feat of shooting the hat off
a man's head without hurting him. He was in the local bar one day when a
peon entered with a brand new white hat; it was an opportunity not to be
missed. Crack--and the man fell with a bullet through his temple instead
of his hat.
Did the Comisario stand stricken with remorse, or burst into
self-reproach? No.
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