That gentleman screwed his lean, gambler's face into a ludicrous
frown.
"Him," he sighed, "that was Jim Sloan, constable from Grand Island, Neb.
And they sent him here about two weeks ago to find me. See? And all this
rube does is ride around in rubberneck wagons and take in the museums and
parks, having no idee where I was. He figured merely on enjoyin' himself
at Nebraska's expense.
"And he was just on the observation tower lookin' over the city in his
rube way when I have to walk into him. Yes, sir, Pete Handley, and there
ain't no slicker guy in the country, walkin' like a prize sucker right
into the arms of a Grand Island, Neb., constable. It all goes to show,"
sighed Dapper Pete, "what a small world it is after all."
WATERFRONT FANCIES
Man's capacity for faith is infinite. He is able to believe with passion
in things invisible. He can achieve a fantastic confidence in the
Unknowable. Here he sits on the breakwater near the Municipal Pier, a
fishpole in his hand, staring patiently into the agate-colored water. He
can see nothing. The lake is enormous. It contains thousands of square
miles of water.
And yet this man is possessed of an unshakable faith that by some
mysterious legerdemain of chance a fish, with ten thousand square miles of
water to swim in safely, will seek out the little minnow less than an inch
in length which he has lowered beside the breakwater.
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