The man was human. He gave Junior another nickel and told him which car to
take from his front door. He had to stand aside and see five pieces of
charred humanity from a cleaning-establishment explosion, carried through
the door before he had a chance to leave it. He reached the florist's two
hours late and in spite of his story and his perfectly discernible bumps
to prove it, he was discharged as a fool for following strangers into an
alley.
On the streets once more and penniless, he started to walk the miles to
his room. When he found the building he thought it would be cooler to
climb the fire-escape and sit on it until he decided what to do, then he
could open the door from the inside. At the top he thrust a foot, head,
and shoulders into the room and realized he had selected the wrong escape.
He tried to draw back, but two men leaped for him, and as he was doubled
in the window he could not make a swift movement.
He was landed in the middle of the room, cursed for a prowling thief, his
protestations silenced, his pockets searched, and when they yielded
nothing, his body stripped of its clean, wholesome clothing and he was
pitched down the stairs.
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