Jim Hanvey lolled upon a park bench, his ample and ungainly figure
entirely surrounded by landscape. The fingers of his right hand
clutched the stump of a cigar which for downright meanness was in a
class alone. His fat and florid face was wreathed in contentment and
his fishy eyes were partially curtained by heavy lids from beneath
which Jim stared amusedly at a group of very small children who romped
in shrill disdain of a sign which warned all and sundry that that
particular grass was not to be trod upon.
The sun of early September was dropping slowly to rest behind the
interminable line of apartment houses on the farther side of Central
Park West. It sprinkled in golden radiance through the red leaves above
Jim's uncovered head and mottled the rich green carpet beneath his
enormous feet. Jim's eyes closed slowly as he luxuriously stretched his
Gargantuan frame. Then the eyes opened to rest upon the trim figure
of a little girl of six who stood regarding him with an expression of
grave but frank interest.
"Hmm!" Jim pulled himself together. "Good evening."
The child made no answer. A spot near Jim's mid-section held her
undivided attention. The unwieldy detective matched the child's
gravity with his own. She was a pretty little thing whose raiment,
even to Jim's untutored eyes, bespoke extreme affluence. At length,
with absolute ease of manner, she moved forward and touched with her
fore-finger, the gold toothpick which hung suspended from the heavy
watch chain spanning Jim's ill-fitting vest.
"That's pretty," she commented abruptly.
Jim's face lighted with pleasure. It was seldom indeed that his pet bit
of personal ornamentation received so genuine a compliment.
"Ain't it?"
"Yup. Awful pretty." Then, doubtfully. "What is it?"
Jim touched a button and a wicked and glistening point appeared. "A
toothpick," he explained.
"What's that?"
"It's--well, you see----" His face went blank. "Just a toothpick,
that's all. Solid gold."
"Oh!" said the child. "I see."
Jim felt relieved. He fancied it might be difficult to explain a solid
gold toothpick and he thanked goodness for the youngster's erudition.
She continued to finger the bauble approvingly but, so far as she was
concerned, the conversation was at an end.
The silence proved somewhat embarrassing to Jim. It was entirely too
impersonal for his friendly nature. "What's your name?"
"Pauline."
"Pauline what?"
"Pauline Lathrop."
"That's a pretty name, Pauline. Where do you live?"
A touch of imitative snobbishness displayed itself in the answer of the
little girl. "Riverside Drive. My father is a very rich man and we have
three automobiles."
"Wonderful. Astounding. And what is your father's name?"
"Mr. Noah Lathrop. He's an emporter."
"An emporter, eh?" Remembrance came to the detective. "Sure. Sure
enough he is. A joolry importer, isn't he?"
"Yup. An' we got three automobiles."
"That certainly is wonderful, Pauline. I'm awful glad to know about
them automobiles. I guess your daddy's business must be awful good."
"No," confessed the child frankly. "Father says it's gone to hell."
Jim was a trifle nonplussed. "That's too bad. I'm real sorry to hear
it, Pauline."
Once again the wordless, contemplative stare of the child. "You're
awful fat."
"So I've heard."
"And you look ugly," she finished. "But you ain't."
"That's a relief. I aint no blue-ribbon entry, at that."
"I like that gold thing," continued Pauline. "But I bet you aint got
three automobiles."
"No. I bet I aint."
"My Father has, and he says----"
"Pauline!" The voice of a woman came inquiringly through the soft air
of a gradually gathering dusk. "Oo-oh! Pauline."
"That's my nurse," she explained to Jim Hanvey. "She gets twenty
dollars a week. Her name is Mary."
Jim's eyes turned slowly toward the trim little uniformed figure which
was bearing down upon them. Faint stirrings of recollection occurred in
the detective's brain. The figure--the face--the voice----And now Mary
had taken Pauline's hand.
"I told you not to run away from that summerhouse. I've been looking
everywhere for you." She exhibited genuine concern--and relief. Pauline
appeared not at all interested.
"This man has got a gold toothpick," she announced triumphantly. "But
he aint got three automobiles."
The nurse turned toward the big man with a smile of quiet apology on
her lips. Her eyes met the glassy orbs of the detective; and the smile
congealed. The color receded from her cheeks and it was patent that she
was struggling to recover a poise suddenly lost.
The detective blinked with maddening slowness. "Hello Mary," he said.
"How's Tim?"
The trim little woman in the nurse's uniform stood rigid for a moment.
Then she turned to the child. "Run on and play with the other children
a few minutes," she ordered. Pauline obeyed willingly enough. The nurse
stood regarding Hanvey apprehensively, and eventually the mammoth
detective punctured the silence.
"Why the disguise, Mary?"
She spoke in tones so low as to be scarcely audible. "It isn't a
disguise, Jim."
"No-o? Last time I seen you----"
"Never mind that," she said nervously. "I'm runnin' straight now. Lay
off."
"Goshamighty, Mary--I aint aiming to do nothin' else. I'm just curious."
"I tell you everything's all right."
"Sure it is. But why the job? What you doin' nursin' a kid?"
He could discern the struggle which she was undergoing. And finally she
seated herself beside him. "There aint a thing wrong, Jim. Honest there
aint. I've just been workin' since they sent Tim up."
"He's in stir?"
"Didn't you know?"
"I heard somethin' about it--but the case wasn't exactly in my line as
I remember. Gov'ment, wasn't it?"