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See now how chance still served our young man: Crossing to the station, Judson Green took note of this barber shop and took note also that his russet shoes had suffered from his trudge through the dusty park. Likewise one of the silken strings had frayed through; the broken end stood up through the top eyelet in an untidy fringed effect. So he turned off short and went into the little place and mounted the new tall chair that stood just inside the door. The only other customer in the place was in the act of leaving. This customer got up from the manicure table opposite the shoe-shining stand, slipped a coin into the palm of the manicure girl and passed out, giving Green a brief profile view of a thin, bearded face. Behind the back of her departing patron, the manicure girl shrugged her shoulders inside of an ornate bodice and screwed up her nose derisively. It was plainly to be seen that she did not care greatly for him she had just served.

From where he was languidly honing a razor, the head barber, he who presided over the first of the row of three chairs, spoke:

“You ought’nter be making faces at your regular steadies, Sadie. If you was to ask me, I think you’ve got a mash on that there gent.”

The young person thus addressed shook her head with a sprightly motion.

“Not on your life,” she answered. “There’s certainly something about that man I don’t like.”

“It don’t never pay to knock a stand-by,” opined the head barber, banteringly.

As though seeking sympathy from these gibes, the young lady denominated as Sadie turned toward the well-dressed, alert-looking young man who had just come in. Apparently he impressed her as a person in whom she might confide.

“Speaking about the fella that just went out,” she said. “August yonder is all the time trying to guy me about him. I should worry! He ain’t my style. Honest, I think he’s nutty.”

Politely Green uttered one of those noncommittal sounds that may be taken to mean almost anything. But the manicure lady was of a temperament needing no prompting. She went on, blithe to be talking to a new listener.

“Yes, sir, I think he’s plumb dippy. He first came in here about two weeks ago to have his nails did, and I don’t know whether you’ll believe it or not–but August’ll tell you it’s the truth–he’s been back here every day since. And the funniest part of it is I’m certain sure he never had his nails done in his life before then–they was certainly in a untidy state the first time he came. And there’s another peculiar thing about him. He always makes me scrape away down under his nails, right to the quick. Sometimes they bleed and it must hurt him.”

“Apparently the gentleman has the manicuring habit in a serious form,” said Green, seeing that Miss Sadie had paused, in expectation of an answer from him.

“He sure has–in the most vi’lent form,” she agreed. “He’s got other habits too. He’s sure badly stuck on the movies.”

“I beg your pardon–on the what?”

“On the movies–the moving pictures,” she explained. “Well, oncet in a while I enjoy a good fillum myself, but I’m no bigot on the subject–I can take my movies or I can let ’em be. But not that man that just now went out. All the time I’m doing his nails he don’t talk about nothing else hardly, except the moving pictures, he’s seen that day or the day before. It’s right ridiculous, him being a grown-up man and everything. I actually believe he never misses a new fillum at that new moving picture place three doors above here, or at that other one, that’s opened up down by Two Hundred an’ Thirtieth Street. He seems to patronise just those two. I guess he lives ’round here somewhere. Yet he don’t seem to be very well acquainted in this part of town neither. Well, it sure takes all kind of people to make a world, don’t it?”