“Well, you are going to chase after this Dutchman in an optical delusion,” said he. “I’m listening—go on, spit out your meaning.”
Hank rose to his feet and took his hat.
“Come on,” said he, “and I’ll show you it.”
CHAPTER IV
TYREBUCK
THEY left the building and struck down Market Street. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and a blazing day. Market Street looked the same as ever—with a difference. It seemed to George that the whole world had somehow a different tinge, as though he were looking at it from the windows of a lunatic asylum.
The people in the street all seemed to be bent on business, serious and sane beyond ordinary; even the loafers and pleasure-seekers were bathed in this atmosphere.
Said Hank, as they crossed the street towards a block of buildings topped by a huge sky sign advising people to smoke Duke Orlando cigarettes:
“Did you ever read about the one horse shay?”