The old man, fiercely scribbling, looked up. "Wait a minute, can't
you?" he said. "I ain't through 'Kenneth' yet." He wrote on, and
finally said, "Address?"
"Hotel New Yorker," Malone said. "In Manhattan?" the old man said.
"That's right," Malone said wearily.
"Ah," the old man said. "Tourist, ain't you? Tourists is always losing
things. Once it was a big dog. Don't know yet how a dog got into this
here theater. Had to feed it for four days before somebody showed up
to claim it. Fierce-looking animal. Part bloodhound, part water
spaniel."