The applicant shook his head in repeated negation. “None that I’ve specialized on.”
“Ah! I fear you will not suit my purpose.”
“All right. But you haven’t explained, yet, why you’ve been studying me through a peep-hole, when I am not allowed to see you.”
After a pause of consideration the voice spoke again.
“You are right. Since I can not employ you, I owe you every courtesy for having put you to this trouble. You will observe that I am not very presentable.”
The side door swung open. In the dimness of the half-disclosed apartment Average Jones saw a man huddled in a chair. He wore a black skull cap. So far as identification went he was safe. His whole face was grotesquely blotched and swollen. So, also, were the hands which rested on his knees.
“You will pardon me,” said Average Jones, “but I am by nature cautious. You have touched me. Is it contagious?”
A contortion of the features, probably indicating a smile, made the changeling face more hideous than before.
“Be at peace,” he said. “It is not. You can find your way out? I bid you good evening, sir.”
“Now I wonder,” mused Average Jones, as he jolted on the rear platform of an Eighth Avenue car, “by what lead I could have landed that job. I rather think I’ve missed something.”