At the curb stood
a big policeman leisurely peeling an orange, to which he had helped
himself from a cringing Italian's cart. I asked him how were things
in the Bend since the park had come. He eyed me very coldly, and
said, "Bad, very bad." At that I expressed my astonishment, saying
that I was a reporter at Police Headquarters and had understood
differently.
"What paper?" he grunted insolently. I told him. He bestowed a look
of mingled pity and contempt upon me.
"Nix! mine friend," he said, spreading his feet farther apart and
tossing the peel at the Italian, who grinned with delight at such
condescension. I regarded him expectantly. He was a very aggravating
chap.
"Did you say you were at Police Headquarters--for the Sun?" he
observed at length.
"Yes!" He shook his head.
"Nixie! not guilty!" he said tauntingly.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"Haven't you heard of Mr. Riis, Jacob Riis?"
I said I had.
"The Governor's friend?"
"Yes; what of it?"
"Well, ain't he at Headquarters for the _Sun_?"
I said that was so.
"Well?"
I took out my card and handed it to him.
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