"Keep on reading that stuff, Jimmy, and you'll be a detective before you know it."
Jimmy pulled himself into his present surroundings with obvious effort. The eyes that met Grant's were still somewhat dreamy.
"What? Aw gee, Mr. Grant. I wish I was a detective! I bet I could be one."
"And yet you don't know where this mysterious communication you just brought me came from?"
"Aw gee! Mr. Grant. How'd I know it was mysterious? I carry so many messages. How could I guess this one was goin' to be something different. Anyway that ain't got nothin' to do with the kind of detectin' I want to do. I want to be——"
"Look here Jimmy," Grant had risen and crossed over to the boy, "Why don't you stop reading these nickel thrillers and put some of that excess energy into the Boy Scouts?"
"Well, Mr. Grant, that ain't a bad idea. They been tryin' to get me to join. But I want to be a detective."
Just how close he was to becoming a detective Jimmy did not know. A few moments later he left the Club and betook himself to the "L" station for the train that would take him back to his office.
Jimmy was followed into the car by a well-dressed, dark man of somewhat foreign appearance who carried a brown portfolio. There was nothing about him to arouse interest, but because he was the only other person in the car Jimmy stared at him with a bored curiosity which would have been disconcerting had the object of it not been in a somewhat drowsy state. Jimmy watched his head nod, fall forward on his chest, and jerked back only to allow it to go through the same performance again. It was very interesting to Jimmy, and he was somewhat sorry when the man jumped to his feet in confusion as the guard called a station and hurried out to the platform. As the train started Jimmy noticed the brown portfolio lying on the seat where the man had left it. He caught it up and thrust his head out of the window.
"Hey, hey, mister! You left your valise!" Portfolios, valises—they were all the same to Jimmy, the untravelled.