I at once became interested then in the man before me, or rather in his thighs—the "Extra" hid the rest.
I began to picture him to myself—young, blond hair, blue eyes, drooping mustache, slouch hat canted rakishly over one eye; not over twenty-five years of age. I had thought forty, until a movement of the paper uncovered for a moment his waist-line which curved in instead of out. This settled it—not a day over twenty-five, of course!
The man's fingers tightened on the edges of the paper. He was still reading, entirely unconscious that my knees were within two inches of his own.
Then I heard this exclamation—
"It's a damned outrage!"
My curiosity got the better of me—I coughed.
The paper dropped instantly.
"My dear sir," he said, bending forward courteously and laying his hand on my wrist, "I owe you an apology. I had no idea anyone was opposite me."
If I was a surprise to him, he was doubly so to me.
My picture had vanished.