I could see that this night-walker showed neither resentment nor alarm at being so accosted. And I could also see that the meeting of the two was a source of much mystification to the third man, the man who still kept a discreet watch from the street corner on my right.
McCooey swung back to where I stood. He swung back resentfully, like a retriever who had been sent on a blind trail.
"What's he after, anyway?" I irritably inquired.
"He says he's afther sleep!"
"After what?" I demanded.
McCooey blinked up at a sky suddenly reddened by an East River gas-flare. Then he took a deep and disinterested breath.
"He says he's afther sleep," repeated the patrolman. "Unless he gets her, says he, he's goin to walk into the East River."
"What's the matter with the man, anyway?" I asked, for that confession had brought the pacing stranger into something very close and kindred to me.
"'Tis nothin' much," was the big man's answer. "Like as not he's been over-eatin' and havin' a bad night or two."
And with that my friend the patrolman, turning on his heel, pursued his way through the quiet canyons of the streets where a thousand happy sleepers knew nothing of his coming and saw nothing of his going.