tates. He was wearing a hand-me-down which hung in weird
folds on his bones. The trousers lacked a good four inches of the
ground, and the sleeves revealed an inch of skinny wrist. The wearer
looked like a gawky school-boy with an old, old face. Yet he bore
himself with the conscious pride of one who wears a new suit. On his
head he wore a brownish straw hat which was a little too small for him,
and had seen three summers. As he walked along with his sprightly
shuffle, which did not get him over the ground very fast, his head
ceaselessly turned from side to side, and he continually looked over
his shoulder without seeming to see anything. His mouth was fixed in
the lines of a sly smile, which had nothing to do with the expression
of his eyes. This was furtive and anxious. His little grey eyes
searched in all the corners of the pavement like a rag-picker's eyes.
To Evan there was something familiar about the face, but he couldn't
quite place it.

The old man turned a corner into one of the little streets leading to
the river. Evan, bound nowhere in particular, and full of curiosity,
followed. There was something notable about the old figure in its
ridiculous habiliments; this was no common character. Under his arm he
carried a bundle wrapped in crumpled paper, which presumably contained
his discarded suit.

He stopped at a fruit-stand, and as Evan overtook him, was engaged in
scanning a tray of apples as if the fate of nations depended upon his
picking the best one at the price. The fruit-vendor regarded him with
a disgusted sneer. Evan loitered, and as the little comedy developed,
stopped outright to see it out.

The old man after an anxious period of indecision finally made his
choice. After having satisfied himself that there was no concealed
blemish in his apple he proffered a nickel in payment and extended a
trembling hand for the change. The Syrian dropped a penny in it, and
turned away with a suspiciously casual manner.

"Where's my other penny?" demanded the old man in a high-pitched,
creaking voice.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded the vendor with a wholly
disproportionate display of passion. "That's all you get."

The old man pointed an indignant forefinger to the ticket on the tray.
"Two for five!" he shrilled.

"That's right. Or four cents a piece," was the rejoinder.

"No you don't! Half of five is two and a half. You make half a cent
on the deal anyhow."

"Well, if y'a