FullReads

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that exactly,” tendered Mr. Leary ingratiatingly. “I’m afraid my clothing isn’t as suitable for outdoor wear as yours is. You see, I’d been to a sort of social function and on my way home it–it happened.”

“Oh, it did, did it? Well, anyway, I should worry about you and your clothes,” stated the other. He took a step onward, then halted; and now the gleam of speculative gain was in his eye. “Say, if I was willin’ to sell–not sayin’ I would be, but if I was–wot would you be willin’ to give for an overcoat like this here one?”

“Any price within reason–any price you felt like asking,” said Mr. Leary, his hopes of deliverance rekindling.

“Well, maybe I’d take twenty-five dollars for it just as it stands and no questions ast. How’d that strike you?”

“I’ll take it. That seems a most reasonable figure.”

“Well, fork over the twenty-five then, and the deal’s closed.”

“I’d have to send you the money to-morrow–I mean to-day. You see, the thief took all my cash when he took my overcoat.”

“Did, huh?”

“Yes, that’s the present condition of things. Very annoying, isn’t it? But I’ll take your address. I’m a lawyer in business in Broad Street, and as soon as I reach my office I’ll send the amount by messenger.”

“Aw, to hell with you and your troubles! I might a-knowed you was some new kind of a panhandler when you come a-snortin’ in my ear that-a-way. Better beat it while the goin’s good. You’re in the wrong neighbourhood to be springin’ such a gag as this one you just now sprang on me. Anyhow, I’ve wasted enough time on the likes of you.”

He was ten feet away when Mr. Leary, his wits sharpened by his extremity, clutched at the last straw.

“One moment,” he nervously begged. “Did I understand you to say your name was Cassidy?”

“You did. Wot of it?”

“Well, curious coincidence and all that–but my name happens to be Leary. And I thought that because of that you might—-“

The stranger broke in on him. “Your name happens to be Leary, does it? Wot’s your other name then?”

“Algernon.”

Stepping lightly on the balls of his feet Mr. Cassidy turned back, and his mien for some reason was potentially that of a belligerent.

“Say,” he declared threateningly, “you know wot I think about you? Well, I think you’re a liar. No regular guy with the name of Leary would let a cheap stiff of a stick-up rob him out of the coat offen his back without puttin’ up a battle. No regular guy named Leary would be named Algernon. Say, I think you’re a Far Downer. I wouldn’t be surprised but wot you was an A. P. A. on the top of that. And wot’s all this here talk about goin’ to a sociable functure and comin’ away not suitably dressed? Come on out of that now and let’s have a look at you.”

“Really, I’d much rather not–if you don’t mind,” protested the miserable Mr. Leary. “I–I have reasons.”

“The same here. Will you come out from behind there peaceable or will I fetch you out?”

So Mr. Leary came, endeavouring while coming to wear a manner combining an atmosphere of dignified aloofness and a sentiment of frank indifference to the opinion of this loutish busybody, with just a touch, a mere trace, as it were, of nonchalance thrown in. In short, coming out he sought to deport himself as though it were the properest thing in the world for a man of years and discretion to be wearing a bright pink one-piece article of apparel on a public highway at four A. M. or thereabouts. Undoubtedly, considering everything, it was the hardest individual task essayed in New York during the first year of the war. Need I add that it was a failure–a total failure? As he stood forth fully and comprehensively revealed by the light of the adjacent transparency, Mr. Cassidy’s squint of suspicion widened into a pop-eyed stare of temporary stupefaction.