He was an old man and the world had used him poorly. He was, in fact, one
of those upon whom the equilibrium of the social system rests. He was
unfortunate, oppressed and acquiescent. Arriving early in the forenoon he
set up his shop, lighted his fire and took his place on the soapbox. When
the lights began to wink out along this highway of evil ghosts Mottka was
still to be seen hunched over his chestnut roaster and waiting.
Policeman Billings strolling over his beat was wont to observe Mottka.
There were many things demanding the philosophical attention of Policeman
Billings. Not so long ago the neighborhood which he policed had been
renowned to the four corners of the earth as the rendezvous of more
temptations than even St. Anthony enumerated in his interesting brochure
on the subject. And Policeman Billings felt the presence of much of this
evil lingering in the brick walls, broken windows and sagging pavements of
the district.
It was after a number of days on the beat that Policeman Billings began to
take Mottka seriously. There was something curious about the chestnut
vender, and the eye of the good officer grew narrow with suspicion. "This
man," reasoned Policeman Billings, "makes pretense of being a vender of
roasted chestnuts.
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