MR. X. It's coming--don't you worry!--And your neck! It looks as if
there ought to be another kind of face on top of it, a face quite
different in type from yours. And your ears come so close together
behind that sometimes I wonder what race you belong to. [A flash of
lightning lights up the room] Why, it looked as if that might have
struck the sheriff's house!
MR. Y. [Alarmed] The sheriff's!
MR. X. Oh, it just looked that way. But I don't think we'll get much of
this storm. Sit down now and let us have a talk, as you are going away
to-morrow. One thing I find strange is that you, with whom I have become
so intimate in this short time--that you are one of those whose image
I cannot call up when I am away from them. When you are not here, and
I happen to think of you, I always get the vision of another
acquaintance--one who does not resemble you, but with whom you have
certain traits in common.
MR. Y. Who is he?
MR. X. I don't want to name him, but--I used for several years to take
my meals at a certain place, and there, at the side-table where they
kept the whiskey and the otter preliminaries, I met a little blond man,
with blond, faded eyes. He had a wonderful faculty for making his way
through a crowd, without jostling anybody or being jostled himself. And
from his customary place down by the door he seemed perfectly able to
reach whatever he wanted on a table that stood some six feet away from
him. He seemed always happy just to be in company. But when he met
anybody he knew, then the joy of it made him roar with laughter, and he
would hug and pat the other fellow as if he hadn't seen a human face
for years. When anybody stepped on his foot, he smiled as if eager to
apologise for being in the way. For two years I watched him and amused
myself by guessing at his occupation and character. But I never asked
who he was; I didn't want to know, you see, for then all the fun would
have been spoiled at once. That man had just your quality of being
indefinite. At different times I made him out to be a teacher who
had never got his licence, a non-commissioned officer, a druggist, a
government clerk, a detective--and like you, he looked as if made out of
two pieces, for the front of him never quite fitted the back. One day
I happened to read in a newspaper about a big forgery committed by
a well-known government official. Then I learned that my indefinite
gentleman had been a partner of the forger's brother, and that his name
was Strawman. Later on I learned that the aforesaid Strawman used to run
a circulating library, but that he was now the police reporter of a big
daily. How in the world could I hope to establish a connection between
the forgery, the police, and my little man's peculiar manners? It was
beyond me; and when I asked a friend whether Strawman had ever been
punished for something, my friend couldn't answer either yes or no--he
just didn't know! [Pause.]
MR. Y. Well, had he ever been--punished?