From the point of view of literature this might be
great stuff; but on the corner of Broadway and Fifth
Street at the crowded hours it was unusual, to say
the least. My companion was entering into the
spirit of it in a most alarming way; he was half chanting,
his voice rising, his face lighting up. “’Thy
men shall fall by the sword, and thy mighty in the
war. And her gates shall lament and mourn; and
she being desolate shall sit upon the ground.’”
“Be careful!” I whispered. “People
will hear you!”
“But why should they not?” He turned on
me a look of surprise. “The people hear
me gladly.” And he added: “The
common people.”
Here was an aspect of my adventure which had not occurred
to me before. “My God!” I thought.
“If he takes to preaching on street corners!”
I realized in a flash—it was exactly what
he would be up to! A panic seized me; I couldn’t
stand that; I’d have to cut and run!
I began to speak quickly. “We must get
across this street while we have time; the traffic
officer has turned the right way now.” And
I began explaining our remarkable system of traffic
handling.
But he stopped me in the middle. “Why do
we wish to cross the street, when we have no place
to go?”
“I have a place I wish to take you to,”
I said; “a friend I want you to meet. Let
us cross. “And while I was guiding him between
the automobiles, I was desperately trying to think
how to back up my lie. Who was there that would
receive this incredible stranger, and put him up for
the night, and get him into proper clothes, and keep
him off the soap-box?
Truly, I was in an extraordinary position! What
had I done to get this stranger wished onto me?
And how long was he going to stay with me? I
found myself recalling the plight of Mary who had a
little lamb!
Fate had me in its hands, and did not mean to consult
me. We had gone less than a block further when
I heard a voice, “Hello! Billy!”
I turned. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Of all
the thankless encounters—Edgerton Rosythe,
moving picture critic of the Western City “Times.”
Precisely the most cynical, the most profane, the most
boisterous person in a cynical and profane and boisterous
business! And he had me here, in full daylight,
with a figure just out of a stained glass window in
St. Bartholomew’s Church!
“Hello, Billy! Who’s your good-looking
friend?” Rosythe was in full sail before a breeze
of his own making.
How could I answer. “Why—er—”
The stranger spoke. “They call me Carpenter.”
“Ah!” said the critic. “Mr.
Carpenter, delighted to meet you.” He gave
the stranger a hearty grip of the hand. “Are
you on location?”
“Location?” said the other; and Rosythe
shot an arrow of laughter towards me. Perhaps
he knew about the vagaries of my Aunt Caroline; anyhow,
he would have a fantastic tale to tell about me, and
was going to exploit it to the limit!
