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“‘He looked at me sort of queer.

“‘”What makes you think I’m an admiral, my man?” he answers.

“Well,” I says, lounging over on one foot reflective like, “nobody could be a-viewin’ the sea with that lovin’, ownership look unless he’d bossed her a bit . . . . If I’m right, Admiral, you takes the chair.”

“‘He laughed, but he got in. “I’m not an admiral,” he said, “but it is true that I’ve followed the sea.'”

“The hobo paused, and put up his first and second fingers spread like a V.

“‘Two points, Governor – the gent had been a sailor and a soldier; now how about the tanner business?

“He scratched his head, moving his ridiculous cap.

“‘That sort of puzzled me, and I pussyfooted along toward the Inlet thinkin’ about it. If a man was a tanner, and especially a foreign, hand-workin’ tanner, what would his markin’s be?

“‘I tried to remember everybody that I’d ever seen handlin’ a hide, and all at once I recollected that the first thing a dago shoemaker done when he picked up a piece of leather was to smooth it out with his thumbs. An’ I said to myself, now that’ll be what a tanner does, only he does it more. . . . he’s always doin’ it. Then I asks myself what would be the markin’s?’

“The hobo paused, his mouth open, his head twisted to one side. Then he jerked up as under a released spring.

“‘And right away, Governor, I got the answer to it flat thumbs!’

“The hobo stepped back with an air of victory and flashed his hand up.

“‘And he had ’em! I asked him what time it was so I could keep the hour straight for McDuyal, I told him, but the real reason was so I could see his hands.'”

Walker crossed one leg over the other.

“It was clever,” he said, “and I hesitated to shatter it. But the question had to come.

“‘Where is your man?’ I said.

“The hobo executed a little deprecatory step, with his fingers picking at his coat pockets.

“‘That’s the trouble, Governor,’ he answered; ‘I intended to sleuth him for you, but he gave me a dollar and I got drunk . . . you saw me. That man had got out at McDuyal’s place not five minutes before. I was flashin’ to the booze can when you tried to stop me . . . . Nothin’ doin’ when I get the price.'”

Walker paused.

“It was a good fairy story and worth something. I offered him half a dollar. Then I got a surprise.

“The creature looked eagerly at the coin in my fingers, and he moved toward it. He was crazy for the liquor it would buy. But he set his teeth and pulled up.

“‘No, Governor,’ he said, ‘I’m in it for the sawbuck. Where’ll I find you about noon?’

“I promised to be on the Boardwalk before Heinz’s Pier at two o’clock, and he turned to shuffle away. I called an inquiry after him . . . You see there were two things in his story: How did he get a dollar tip, and how did he happen to make his imaginary man banker-looking? Mulehaus had been banker-looking in both the Egypt and the Argentine affairs. I left the latter point suspended, as we say. But I asked about the dollar. He came back at once.

“‘I forgot about that, Governor,’ he said. ‘It was like this: The admiral kept looking out at the sea where an old freighter was going South. You know, the fruit line from New York. One of them goes by every day or two. And I kept pushing him along. Finally we got up to the Inlet, and I was about to turn when he stopped me. You know the neck of ground out beyond where the street cars loop; there’s an old board fence by the road, then sand to the sea, and about halfway between the fence and the water there’s a shed with some junk in it. You’ve seen it. They made the old America out there and the shed was a tool house.