3

3.
They were still talking when I left them to continue my walk in sarch of Mr. Hunt's residence. The street number that had been given me as his address was above the door of a structure that had been erected to house a store. On the sidewalk an ordinary cane-bottomed chair leaning against a telephone post was occupied by an elderly man who was apparently dozing in the warm sunshine.
"Where will I find Mr. Henry Hunt?" I enquired. The sound of my voice aroused him. He stretched his arms, yawned and as he arose to his feet, he finally said,
That's him, that's Henry Hunt," and at the same time he pointed toward a man who occupied a char in the paved area-way before the door of the house. THere was no porch. Mr. Hunt put down his paper, stood up, and greeted me. He insisted that I sit down, and then went inside the hosue to get another chair for himself. A small white dog followed and sat down at his master's feet. Mr. Hunt is of medium height and his plump figure was attired in gray tweed trousers, a brown woolen shirt, and an overall jacket. Heavy black shoes and a black leaver cap completed his costume. White hair framed his florid face. His frequent smiles revealed the fact that several teeth were missing, and the nicotine stains on the fingers of his right hand indicated that he had done much smoking.
He was silent for a few moments following my request for an interview. The movement seemed instinctive when he took a folder of cigarette papers and a sack of tobacco from a pocket and began making a cigarette, "Well now, I don't know where to begin," he started. "If

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