"He may have come here to wash his wounds--salt is a styptic," said
my host, who had recovered his correct precision of statement.
I said nothing, but looked toward the sea. Whatever secret lay hid
in its breast, it kept it fast. Whatever its calm eyes had seen
that summer night, it gave no reflection now. It lay there
passive, imperturbable, and reticent. But my friend, the Tramp,
was gone!
THE MAN FROM SOLANO
He came toward me out of an opera lobby, between the acts,--a
figure as remarkable as anything in the performance. His clothes,
no two articles of which were of the same color, had the appearance
of having been purchased and put on only an hour or two before,--a
fact more directly established by the clothes-dealer's ticket which
still adhered to his coat-collar, giving the number, size, and
general dimensions of that garment somewhat obtrusively to an
uninterested public. His trousers had a straight line down each
leg, as if he had been born flat but had since developed; and there
was another crease down his back, like those figures children cut
out of folded paper.
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