has always been careful to keep thumb prints from
possession of police; chest measurement, 42 inches, varying with
respiration; sometimes wears glasses, but usually operates
undisguised; dislikes the works of Rabindranath Tagore; corn on
little toe of right foot; superstitious, especially with regard to
psychic phenomena; eyes, blue; does not use drugs nor read his
verses to women's clubs; ruddy complexion; no photograph in
possession of police; garrulous and argumentative; prominent cheek
bones; avoids Bohemian society, so-called, and has never been in a
thieves' kitchen, a broker's office nor a class of short-story
writing; wears 17-inch collar; waist measurement none of your
business; favourite disease, hypochondria; prefers the society of
painters, actors, writers, architects, preachers, sculptors,
publishers, editors, musicians, among whom he often succeeds in
insinuating himself, avoiding association with crooks and reformers
as much as possible; walks with rapid gait; mark of old fracture on
right shin; cuffs on trousers, and coat cut loose, with plenty of
room under the arm pits; two hip pockets; dislikes Rochefort cheese,
"Tom Jones," Wordsworth's poetry, absinthe cocktails, most musical
comedy, public banquets, physical exercise, Billy Sunday, steam
heat, toy dogs, poets who wear their souls outside, organized
charity, magazine covers, and the gas company; prominent callouses
on two fingers of right hand prevent him being expert pistol shot;
belt straps on trousers; long upper lip; clean shaven; shaggy
eyebrows; affects soft hats; smile, one-sided; no gold fillings in
teeth; has served six years of indeterminate sentence in Brooklyn,
with no attempt to escape, but is reported to have friends outside;
voice, husky; scar above the forehead concealed by hair; commonly
wears plain gold ring on little finger of left hand; dislikes
prunes, tramp poets and imitations of Kipling; trousers cut loose
over hips and seat; would likely come along quietly if arrested.

I would fail utterly in this rambling anatomy if I did not insist that
Don Marquis regards his column not merely as a soapslide but rather as a
cudgelling ground for sham and hypocrisy. He has something of the quick
Stevensonian instinct for the moral issue, and the Devil not
infrequently winces about the time the noon edition of the _Evenin