Now there is something contradictory about this man and his curtness invites. He seems to have accepted the presence of the newspaper man in an odd way, an uncity way. After a pause he gestures slightly with his pipe in his hand and says: "Quite a crowd, eh?" The newspaper man nods. The other goes on: "Where are they going?" This is more than a question. There is indignation in it. The deepset eyes gleam. "I wonder," says the newspaper man. His companion remains staring in his odd, unseeing way. Then he says: "They don't look at anything, eh? In a terrible hurry, ain't they? Yeah, in a rotten hurry." The newspaper man nods. "Which way you going?" he asks. "No way," his companion answers. "No way at all. I'm standin' here, see?" There is a silence. The motionless one has become something queer in the eyes of the newspaper man. He has become grim, definite, taunting. Here is a man who questions the people of the street with unseeing eyes. Why? Here is one who is going "no way." Yet, look at him closely and there is no sneer in his eyes. His lips hold no contempt. There you have it. He is a questioning man. He is questioning things that no one questions--buildings, crowds, windows. And there is some sort of answer inside him. * * * * * "What you talking to me for?" The newspaper man smiles disarmingly at this sudden inquiry. "Oh, I don't know," he says. "Saw you standing still. You looked different. Wondered, you know. Just kind of thought to say hello." "Funny," says the motionless one. "I got a hunch you're a stranger in town." This question the companion answers. "Yeah, a stranger. A stranger. That's what I am, all right. I'm a stranger, all right. You got me right." Now the motionless one smiles. This makes his face look uncomfortable. This makes it seem as if he had been frowning savagely before. "What do you think of this town?" pursues the newspaper man. "Think of this town? Think? Say, I ain't thinking. I don't think anything of it. I'm just looking at it, see? A stranger don't ever think, now, does he? There, that's one for you." "When'd you come here?" "When'd I come here? When? Well, I come here this noon. On the noon train. Say, don't make me gabby. I never gab any." Nothing to be got out of this motionless one. Nothing but a question. A pause, however, and he went on: "Have you ever seen such a crowd like this? Hurrying? Hm! Some town! There used to be a hotel over here west a bit." "The Wellington?" "Yeah. I don't see it when I pass." "Torn down." "Hm!" The deep-set eyes narrow for an instant. Then the motionless one sighs and his shoulders loosen. His face grows alive and he looks this way and that. He starts to walk and walks quickly, leaving the newspaper man standing alone. * * * * *