the window.

A loose-jointed man in clerical garb came hurrying down the avenue. He
made longer swings with his right arm and longer strides with his right
leg than with his left. He had a white, thin face, and a look of worry
and anxiety. He was perhaps distressed to think that the world contained
many souls to whose salvation he would never be able to attend.
Perceiving the legless beggar, he stopped hurrying, sought in his
pocket, and found a few pennies. These he dropped into the tin cup.

"God bless you, reverend sir," said the beggar in a voice of deep irony.

"Don't," said the clergyman. He managed to look the beggar in the eyes.
"How many hats have we?" he asked in a quick whisper.

"We're on our fourth thousand."

The clergyman was visibly upset, "Six thousand to go," he muttered. "I
shall be caught."

The beggar smiled. "Come to me at six-thirty," he said.

The man of God's eyes brightened. "You'll help me again?"

"Tst," said the beggar. "Move on. Here's a plain-clothes man."

The shepherd moved on as if he had been pricked by an awl; since it was
not among the police that he felt called upon to separate the black
sheep from the white.