"All things come to him who waits," quoted Indiman. "Do you believe
that?"
"It's a comfortable theory," I answered.
"But an untenable one. And Fortune is equally elusive to those who seek
her over-persistently. The truth, as usual, lies between the extremes."
"Well?"
"The secret is simple enough. He who is ready to receive, receives.
Love, fame, the shower of gold--they are in the air, and only waiting
to be precipitated. I stand ready to be amused, and that same afternoon
the Evening Post aims a blow at the Tammany 'Tiger' over the shoulder
of Mr. Edward M. Shepard; I am in the mood adventurous, and instantly
the shadow of a prodigy falls across my threshold; yea, though I live
on upper West End Avenue. Do you remember this?" and he held out a
small Yale latch-key.
"It is the one you picked up at Twenty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue
last night."
"Precisely. Now a key, you observe, is intended to open something--in
this case a door. What door? As though that mattered! Put on your
rain-coat, my dear Thorp, and let us begin a little journey into the
unknown. Fate will lead us surely, O unbelieving one, if you will but
place your hand unresistingly in hers."
We left the house, and Indiman tossed a penny into the air. "Broadway,
heads; Fourth Avenue, tails." Tails it was.
Arrived at Fourth Avenue, we stood waiting for a car. The first that
came along was on its way up-town and we boarded it.
"Was it you who asked for a cross-town transfer at Twenty-ninth?"
inquired the conductor of Indiman a few minutes later, and Indiman
nodded assent and took the transfer slips.
At Eighth Avenue the cross-town car was blocked by a stalled coal-cart.
We alighted and passively awaited further directions from our esoteric
guide. Quite an amusing game for a dull, rainy afternoon, and I felt
grateful to Indiman for its invention.
The policeman on the corner was endeavoring to direct a very small boy
with a very large bundle. "Up one block and turn east," he said,
impressively. "I've told you that now three times."