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A TRAMP, sitting by the roadside, heard the crash and the faint scream that accompanied it; but he took no particular notice, and his scornful, almost humorous apathy was the keynote of his condition. What was a crash or a scream to a ragged, down-at-heel fellow, with an empty flask by his side?
“Blimy,” he reflected, “ain’t I once seed a ’ole preseshun o’ helefants go by, with pink bowler ’ats and walkin’ sticks?” He scoffed. “These things ain’t ‘appenin’ I’ Nevertheless, after a few minutes, he turned his head and stared up the lane from which the crash and the scream had come. Then he turned his head again, and stared down the lane in the opposite direction. His eyes reaped nothing, but on his ears fell a faint, leathery sound, as of an inn-sign creaking.
Genre: Mystery
“Blimy,” he reflected, “ain’t I once seed a ’ole preseshun o’ helefants go by, with pink bowler ’ats and walkin’ sticks?” He scoffed. “These things ain’t ‘appenin’ I’ Nevertheless, after a few minutes, he turned his head and stared up the lane from which the crash and the scream had come. Then he turned his head again, and stared down the lane in the opposite direction. His eyes reaped nothing, but on his ears fell a faint, leathery sound, as of an inn-sign creaking.
Genre: Mystery
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