The stranger was somewhat stout and his face was tanned a deep brown, as though he had been exposed to wind and weather. He wore a well-fitting suit of yachting flannels and a yachting cap of blue was set rather rakishly on his head. Roy instantly decided that the stranger must be a seafaring man. But what attracted Roy to the man was the latter’s jolly, friendly expression. He fairly exuded good nature. Roy felt that he would like to know the man. The stranger, however, hardly noticed Roy, but walked rapidly along the promenade, with a step that was wonderfully light and quick for a man of his build. Roy knew that it was impolite to stare at people, but he was so drawn to this passer-by that he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn around and watch him. In another second he was glad he had done so.
A great wave crashed against the sea-wall and showered both Roy and the stranger with spray. Roy was annoyed at getting his new uniform wet. The stranger only laughed, though he was far wetter than Roy. From a side pocket of his coat he drew a white handkerchief and wiped the spray from his face. With the handkerchief he pulled out a letter. He did not notice it, and in a second the wind whirled it away through the park.
“Wait a minute,” shouted Roy. “You lost a letter.” And he dashed across the green after the flying envelope. His voice was drowned in the babel of sounds and the stranger went on his way unheeding.
Roy pursued the elusive paper almost to Broadway before he managed to clutch it. Then he turned and dashed back across the park. The stranger had disappeared, but Roy knew that he could single the man out because of his white clothes. So he ran on down the promenade in the direction the stranger had taken. But he could find him nowhere. Roy reached the western end of the promenade and looked up West Street. The man was nowhere in sight.
“He couldn’t have gone much farther than this,” reasoned Roy. “Probably he has gone into some building. He might have gone into the harbor police station. I’ll look there for him.” And Roy turned toward the building on the pier from beside which the Patrol had emerged.
He pushed open the door and entered the Harbor A Station. A lieutenant of police sat behind a big desk and on the floor before him was the man Roy was searching for. But the man’s expression had changed greatly. He looked troubled and worried.
“I beg your pardon,” said Roy, stepping toward the stranger, “but this letter belongs to you. It came out of your pocket when you pulled your handkerchief out and the wind blew it away. I shouted at you to wait, but I suppose you didn’t hear me. I had to chase it nearly to Broadway and when I got back you had gone. I’m glad I found you.”
“By George, youngster!” said the man, grasping the letter eagerly. “You aren’t half as glad as I am. That’s a mighty important letter. I discovered when I replaced my handkerchief that it was missing, and I stepped in here to report the loss. I thought I had been robbed.”
He looked the letter over critically to make sure it was all right. “You’ve done me a mighty good turn, youngster,” he said. “What do I owe you?”
Roy drew back, frowning. “Nothing, sir,” he said. “I didn’t chase your letter for money.”