More than that, he is
not looking at anything. His deep-set eyes seem to withhold themselves
from the active street.
In the sauve spectacle of the avenue his motionless figure is like an
awkward faux pas in a parlor conversation. The newspaper man on his way to
the I. C. station pauses to light his pipe and his eyes take in the figure
of this motionless one.
The newspaper man notices that the man stands like one who is braced
against something that may come suddenly and that his deep-set eyes say,
"We know what we know." There are other impressions that interest the
newspaper man. For a moment the motionless one seems a blurred little unit
of the hurrying crowd. Then for a moment he seems to grow large and his
figure becomes commanding and it is as if he were surveying the blurred
little faces of the hurrying crowd. This is undoubtedly because he is
standing still and not looking at anything.
* * * * *
"Can I have a light, please?"
The man's voice is low. A bit hoarse. He has a pipe and the newspaper man
gives him a match. Ah, the amiable, meaningless curiosity of newspaper
men! This one must ask questions. It is after work, but, like the
policeman who goes to the movies with his club still at his side, he is
still asking questions.
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