The steps came nearer and Prale could make out the form of a man slipping along the dock's edge in a furtive manner. There was not light enough for Prale to see his features. He was walking bent over, a short, heavy-set man who did not wear an overcoat. Prale watched as the man passed within six feet of him and went to the edge of the dock. There he stood, outlined against the sky, looking down at the water. Prale imagined that he heard something like a sob, and gave closer attention. Then he saw the man take off his coat and drop it behind him, remove his cap and place it on the coat, and look down at the water again. And then Sidney Prale sprang straight forward, and grasped the body of the other as it was in mid-air. "No, you don't!" Prale exclaimed. He found immediately that he had a fight on his hands. The other whirled and began kicking and striking. Sidney Prale hurled him backward, rushed, caught him up again in a better hold, threw him back against the building, and held him there, breathless and panting. "Another smash out of you, and I'll drop you into the river myself!" Prale said. "Suppose you take time to get your breath now." "I--I thought you was a cop." "Afraid of the cops?" "It's against the law to--to try to commit suicide." "So I understand," said Prale. "Well, I am not a cop. Trying to drown yourself, were you? Why?" "Why not?" the other asked. "I'm done with livin'." "Not just yet, but you would have been if I hadn't been sitting here." "I've knocked all over the world--and made a few mistakes," said the derelict. "Oh, nothin' that would get me in trouble with the cops! But I just found out that I'm clutterin' up the earth and don't amount to anything. I'm sick of half starvin' to death, and workin' like a dog when I get the chance just to get enough to keep a few old clothes hung on me." "Disgusted generally with your lot?" Prale asked. "Yes, sir." "Friends or relatives?" "Not any." "What's your name?" Prale asked. "You mean my real name? I don't remember. It's been so long since I've used it, and I've used so many others since that I don't know. What's the difference?" "I'll call you Murk," said Prale. "That expresses the dark river, the deed you were about to do, and the evident state of your feelings." "It's as good as any, I suppose." "What's your particular grievance against the world in general?" "It ain't anything in particular," said Murk. "It's just general." "I see. A drifter, are you?" "I reckon I am." "Sore at existence, eh?" "Well, what's the use of livin'?" Murk demanded. "There ain't a man, woman or child in the world that gives a whoop what becomes of me. I'm just in the way to be kicked around." "Maybe you haven't found your proper place in the scheme of things." "I've sure done some travelin' lookin' for it, boss, but maybe I ain't found it, as you say. I sure ain't found any place that looks like it needed me bad." "Hard to make a living?"