"
"What did he bring you in for?"
"Oh, because he thinks I am a crook, because I don't have enough chestnuts
to sell. He says I am a lookout for crooks and he brings me in."
Mottka laughed softly and shrugged his shoulders.
"I am no crook. Only I am too poor to buy more chestnuts."
Policeman Billings frowned, but not at Mottka.
"Here," said the good officer, and he handed Mottka a dollar. Three other
upholders of the law were present and they too handed Mottka money.
"Go and buy yourself some chestnuts, Mottka," said the sergeant, "so the
officers won't be runnin' you in on suspicion of bein' a criminal."
Now Mottka's chestnut roaster in the alley off State Street is full of
chestnuts. A bright fire burns under the pan and Mottka sits watching the
chestnuts brown and peel as they roast. And if you were to ask him about
things he would say:
"Tell something? What is there to tell? Nothing."
"FA'N TA MIG!"
Avast and belay there! Take in the topgallants, wind up the mizzenmast and
reef the cleets! This is Tobias Wooden-Leg plowing his way through a high
sea in Grand Avenue.
Aye, what a night, what a night! The devil astride the jib boom, his tail
lashing in the wind.
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