The Mind Creative
The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively.
The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators
were few. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but chilly gusts
of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh de-peopled the
streets.
Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and
artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye
down the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form
and slight swagger, made a fine picture of a guardian of the
peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then
you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch
counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business
places that had long since been closed.
When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly
slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a
man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man spoke up quickly.
"It's all right, officer," he said, reassuringly. "I'm just waiting for
a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a
little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to
make certain it's all straight. About that long ago there used to
be a restaurant where this store stands—'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant."
"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then."
The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light
showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little
white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarf pin was a large
diamond, oddly set.
"Twenty years ago to-night," said the man, "I dined here at 'Big
Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap
in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two
brothers, together. I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The
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