"Which way you going?" he asks.
"No way," his companion answers. "No way at all. I'm standin' here, see?"
There is a silence. The motionless one has become something queer in the
eyes of the newspaper man. He has become grim, definite, taunting. Here is
a man who questions the people of the street with unseeing eyes. Why? Here
is one who is going "no way." Yet, look at him closely and there is no
sneer in his eyes. His lips hold no contempt.
There you have it. He is a questioning man. He is questioning things that
no one questions--buildings, crowds, windows. And there is some sort of
answer inside him.
* * * * *
"What you talking to me for?"
The newspaper man smiles disarmingly at this sudden inquiry.
"Oh, I don't know," he says. "Saw you standing still. You looked
different. Wondered, you know. Just kind of thought to say hello."
"Funny," says the motionless one.
"I got a hunch you're a stranger in town."
This question the companion answers. "Yeah, a stranger. A stranger. That's
what I am, all right. I'm a stranger, all right. You got me right."
Now the motionless one smiles. This makes his face look uncomfortable.
This makes it seem as if he had been frowning savagely before.
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