Short Stories
the thought, "Wanted to know
what time." In another house one room was lighted. The
light burned dimly and steadily and he had the feel that it was
a sick-room.
He was especially interested in a house across the street in
the middle of the block. To this house he paid most attention.
No matter what way he looked, nor what way he walked, his
looks and his steps always returned to it. Except for an open
window above the porch, there was nothing unusual about
the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing happened. There
were no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and disap-
peared in any of the windows. Yet it was the central point of
his consideration. He rallied to it each time after a divination
of the state of the neighborhood.
Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was su-
premely conscious of the precariousness of his situation.
Though unperturbed by the footfalls of the chance pedestrian,
he was as keyed up and sensitive and ready to be startled as
any timorous deer. He was aware of the possibility of other in-
telligences prowling about in the darkness—intelligences simi-
lar to his own in movement, perception, and divination.
Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that
moved. And he knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and
danger. He whistled twice to the house across the street, then
faded away shadow-like to the corner and around the corner.
Here he paused and looked about him carefully. Reassured, he
peered back around the corner and studied the object that
moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It
was a policeman.
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