It was in this very hideout on the evening of that day on which he had gone to view with Tom Howe the remains of a blown safe that Jimmie told John of his great discovery in the fog.
It had been his idea in the first place to secure a short news story with a picture telling how a giant from the north woods had knocked a pick-pocket into the middle of the street with his bare fist.
As his acquaintance with this big, rough-spoken man had grown, his ideas had grown with it.
Now, as John sat with a steaming cup of chocolate before him he said:
“It’s a feature story. That’s what it is!”
“For the big Saturday edition,” John smiled expectantly.
“Yes, or perhaps even a magazine article.”
“All ready. Shoot! And here’s how!” said John. They clicked their cups and drank, after which Jimmie told his story. He told how he and the man from the north had met in the fog, how the pick-pocket had gone spinning into the street and how he, Jimmie, had asked the stranger for a story.
“When he showed me that check for a half million bucks the one that pick-pocket nearly got, I wouldn’t believe it was real,” said Jimmie.
“Don’t blame you,” John drawled.