“What was he doing?”
“Snake-turns. Walk down Nicklin Avenya; turn. Walk up to the corner; turn again. Stop at the corner; talk to a tree. Walk down Nicklin Avenya again; turn oncet more. Stand still. I watcht him.”
“What did he do then?” asked the girl, enjoying the discomfiture of her caller.
The narrator rubbed one foot over the other and considered. “Sweat,” he stated conscientiously. “Look at his collar.”
Mr. Robson’s involuntary hand and Miss Ames’ involuntary gaze met upon the article of apparel indicated. It melted under the double pressure.
“Walked back up to Montgomery Street,” continued the conscientious chronicler en joyably. “Stopped. Cussed the tree. Sweat some more. Turned down Bank—”
“That will do, Buddy. You should be a detective.” Mr. Burton Higman blushed in glory. The girl turned to the accused. “Is all this true?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Any mitigating circumstances?”
“I was screwing up my courage to face an ordeal.”