“You catch a bus the same way your father always did,” chuckled his companion. “He never was a man to waste any time waiting, either.”
Startled, Flash glanced quickly at the elderly man. He was certain he had never seen him anywhere before.
“You knew my father?” he inquired in astonishment.
“Jimmy Evans, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Thought so,” the man nodded. “Yes, I knew your father years ago when we worked together on the Post. You’re the spittin’ image of him, and you have the same mannerisms. When you swung on that bus, I said to myself, ‘that spry young fellow is Evans’ son.’ My name is Thomas Brown.”
“I’m glad to meet you, sir,” Flash responded heartily. “I guess you know my father died several years ago.”
“Yes, I saw a notice in the paper.” The man nodded sadly. “It hit me hard when I heard about it. I thought a lot of your father. Working on a paper yourself?”
“The Ledger. But I don’t know how long I’ll last,” Flash admitted with a grin. “I’m new there and I’ve run into a little trouble.”
“There’s always plenty of it waiting to pounce on a man these days,” Mr. Brown said philosophically. “Well, don’t let it get you down.”