“That’s an idea,” said Flash. “Maybe I will.”
Since the watchman did not come on duty until after the day workers had left the building, it meant that to talk with the old fellow he must make a special trip back to the Ledger. Flash decided it might be well worth his trouble.
Accordingly, he remained downtown that evening. After attending a movie he returned to the nearly deserted building. Locating Old Herm on the third floor, Flash pretended to run into him by accident.
“Workin’ late again?” the watchman inquired, pausing in surprise.
“No, just dropped in for a minute. I see they keep you busy.”
“I’m at it without a let-up,” the old man sighed. “Since the darkroom was busted into, the building superintendent clamped down on me hard—said I wasn’t payin’ attention to my duties. ‘You jest follow me around for a night,’ I says to him.”
Herm rambled on for several minutes, but presently Flash deftly switched the subject. After talking about the past he casually asked the old fellow the name of his son.
“It was Richard,” Herm answered and a different expression came over his wrinkled face. “My boy died when he was only twenty. Four years older than you be. They crucified him! They killed him!”
“Whom do you mean?” Flash questioned in a puzzled voice.
But old Herm did not answer. Tears rolled down his withered cheeks. Turning his back upon Flash, he hobbled painfully away.