The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch,/the lid of it set with small diamonds.
“Three minutes to ten,”/he announced. “It was exactly ten o’clock/when we parted here/at the restaurant door.”
“Did pretty well out West,/didn’t you?”/commented the police officer.
“You bet! I hope/Jimmy has done half as well. He was a good fellow,/though kind of a plodder. I’ve had to compete/with some of the sharpest wits/going to get my pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes the West/to put a razor sharp edge on him.”
The police officer twirled his club/and took a step or two.
“I’ll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around/all right. Are you going to call time on him sharp?”
“No way!”/said the other. “I’ll give him half an hour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth/he’ll be here by that time. So long,/officer.”
“Good-night,/sir,”/said the police officer,/continuing on along his beat,/trying doors as he went.
There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling,/and the wind had risen/from uncertain puffs into a steady blow. The few foot passengers in that quarter/hurried dismally and silently along/with coat collars turned high/and hands in pockets. And,/in the door of the hardware store,/the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment,/uncertain almost to absurdity,/with the friend of his youth,/smoked his cigar and waited.
About twenty minutes he waited,/and then a tall man in a long overcoat,/with collar turned up to his ears,/hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man.
“Is that you,/Bob?”/he asked, doubtfully.
“Is that you,/Jimmy Wells?”/cried the man in the door.
“Bless my heart!”/exclaimed the new arrival,/grasping both of the other’s hands with his own. “It’s Bob,/sure as fate. I was certain/I’d find you here/if you were still in existence. Well, well, well! Twenty years is a long time. The old restaurant’s gone,/Bob;/I wish it had lasted,/so we could have had another dinner there. How has the West treated you,/old man?”
“Terrific! It has given me everything/I asked it for. You’ve changed lots,/Jimmy. I never thought/you were so tall/— by two or three inches.”
“Oh,/I grew a bit/after I was twenty.”
“Doing well in New York,/Jimmy?”
“Moderately. I have a position/in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob;/we’ll go around to a place/I know of,/and have a good long talk about old times.”
“Three minutes to ten,”/he announced. “It was exactly ten o’clock/when we parted here/at the restaurant door.”
“Did pretty well out West,/didn’t you?”/commented the police officer.
“You bet! I hope/Jimmy has done half as well. He was a good fellow,/though kind of a plodder. I’ve had to compete/with some of the sharpest wits/going to get my pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes the West/to put a razor sharp edge on him.”
The police officer twirled his club/and took a step or two.
“I’ll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around/all right. Are you going to call time on him sharp?”
“No way!”/said the other. “I’ll give him half an hour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth/he’ll be here by that time. So long,/officer.”
“Good-night,/sir,”/said the police officer,/continuing on along his beat,/trying doors as he went.
There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling,/and the wind had risen/from uncertain puffs into a steady blow. The few foot passengers in that quarter/hurried dismally and silently along/with coat collars turned high/and hands in pockets. And,/in the door of the hardware store,/the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment,/uncertain almost to absurdity,/with the friend of his youth,/smoked his cigar and waited.
About twenty minutes he waited,/and then a tall man in a long overcoat,/with collar turned up to his ears,/hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man.
“Is that you,/Bob?”/he asked, doubtfully.
“Is that you,/Jimmy Wells?”/cried the man in the door.
“Bless my heart!”/exclaimed the new arrival,/grasping both of the other’s hands with his own. “It’s Bob,/sure as fate. I was certain/I’d find you here/if you were still in existence. Well, well, well! Twenty years is a long time. The old restaurant’s gone,/Bob;/I wish it had lasted,/so we could have had another dinner there. How has the West treated you,/old man?”
“Terrific! It has given me everything/I asked it for. You’ve changed lots,/Jimmy. I never thought/you were so tall/— by two or three inches.”
“Oh,/I grew a bit/after I was twenty.”
“Doing well in New York,/Jimmy?”
“Moderately. I have a position/in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob;/we’ll go around to a place/I know of,/and have a good long talk about old times.”