The big man whirled about. “Oh, a boy!” he smiled broadly.
“But won’t you have him arrested?” Jimmie asked in surprise.
“No—o, I guess not,” the big man drawled. “He’s just a dirty little cur. Guess he’ll remember this.”
“But he’s a pick-pocket,” Jimmie protested. “Probably got a long record. I saw him do it. We—we could convict him.”
“Yes,” the other agreed. “But see. The fog has swallowed him up.”
“That’s right,” Jimmie agreed. “But say!” Jimmie was struck by a sudden idea. “This would be a peach of a story. I’m from the Press. Mind if I take your picture?”
“In this fog?” The man stared at him.
“Sure. My candid camera gets ’em in any weather. Just a minute.”
Jimmie backed up, squinted through his finder, twisted a screw, pressed a button, then said,
“Thanks, that’s great.”