How come?"
"You might have got a story out of him," "Specs" grinned. "That's George
Cook. Just let out of the Joliet pen this morning. Served fourteen years.
Quite a yarn at the time. For killing a pal in the Wellington hotel over
some dame. I guess that was before your time, though. He just landed in
town this noon."
The detective rubbered into the moving crowd.
"I'm sort of keeping an eye on him," he said, and hurried on.
GRASS FIGURES
You will sometimes notice when you sit on the back porch after dinner that
there are other back porches with people on them. And when you sit on the
front steps, that there are other front steps similarly occupied. In the
park when you lie down on the grass you will see there are others lying on
the grass. And when you look out of your window you can observe other
people looking out of their windows.
In the streets when you walk casually and have time to look around you
will see others walking casually and looking around, too. And in the
theater or church or where you work there are always the inevitable
others, always reflecting yourself. You might get to thinking about this
as the newspaper reporter did. The newspaper reporter got an idea one day
that the city was nothing more nor less than a vast, broken mirror giving
him back garbled images of himself.
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