“We didn’t even know that Mulehaus was in America.  He’s a big crook with a genius for selecting men.  He might be directing the job from Rio or a Mexican port.  But we were sure it was a Mulehaus’ job.  He sold the French securities in Egypt in ’90; and he’s the man who put the bogus Argentine bonds on our market - you’ll find the case in the 115th Federal Reporter.

“Well,” he went on, “I was sitting out there in the rolling chair, looking at the sun on the sea and thinking about the thing, when I noticed this hobo that I’ve been talking about.  He was my chair attendant, but I hadn’t looked at him before.  He had moved round from behind me and was now leaning against the galvanized pipe railing.

“He was a big human creature, a little stooped, unshaved and dirty; his mouth was slack and loose, and he had a big mobile nose that seemed to move about like a piece of soft rubber.  He had hardly any clothing; a cap that must have been fished out of an ash barrel, no shirt whatever, merely an old ragged coat buttoned round him, a pair of canvas breeches and carpet slippers tied on to his feet with burlap, and wrapped round his ankles to conceal the fact that he wore no socks.

“As I looked at him he darted out, picked up the stump of a cigarette that some one had thrown down, and came back to the railing to smoke it, his loose mouth and his big soft nose moving like kneaded putty.

“Altogether this tramp was the worst human derelict I ever saw.  And it occurred to me that this was the one place in the whole of America where any sort of a creature could get a kind of employment and no questions asked.

“Anything that could move and push a chair could get fifteen cents an hour from McDuyal.  Wise man, poor man, beggar man, thief, it was all one to McDuyal.  And the creatures could sleep in the shed behind the rolling chairs.

“I suppose an impulse to offer the man a garment of some sort moved me to address him.

“`You’re nearly naked,’ I said.

“He crossed one leg over the other with the toe of the carpet slipper touching the walk, in the manner of a burlesque actor, took the cigarette out of his mouth with a little flourish, and replied to me: 

“‘Sure, Governor, I ain’t dolled up like John Drew.’

“There was a sort of cocky unconcern about the creature that gave his miserable state a kind of beggarly distinction.  He was in among the very dregs of life, and he was not depressed about it.

“’But if I had a sawbuck,” he continued, “I could bulge your eye . . . .  Couldn’t point the way to one?’

“He arrested my answer with the little flourish of his fingers holding the stump of the cigarette.

“‘Not work, Governor,’ and he made a little duck of his head, ’and not murder . . . .  Go as far as you please between ’em.’

“The fantastic manner of the derelict was infectious.

“`O.  K.’  I said. `Go out and find me a man who is a deserter from the German Army, was a tanner in Bale and began life as a sailor, and I’ll double your money — I’ll give you a twenty-dollar bill.’