found lie was in the usual vacant lot long given up to rubbish. When
he stood still a moment he heard the sobbing again, and followed the
sound to the place behind the boarding against which he had supported
himself when he took off his boot.

A man was lying on the ground with his arms flung out. The street
lamp outside the boarding cast light enough to reveal him. Tembarom
felt as though he had suddenly found himself taking part in a
melodrama,-" The Streets of New York," for choice,-though no
melodrama had ever given him this slightly shaky feeling. But when a
fellow looked up against it as hard as this, what you had to do was
to hold your nerve and make him feel he was going to be helped. The
normal human thing spoke loud in him.

"Hello, old man!" he said with cheerful awkwardness. "What's hit you?"

The man started and scrambled to his feet as though he were
frightened. He was wet, unshaven, white and shuddering, piteous to
look at. He stared with wild eyes, his chest heaving.

"What's up?" said Tembarom.

The man's breath caught itself.

"I don't remember." There was a touch of horror in his voice, though
he was evidently making an effort to control him-self. "I can't - I
can't remember." "What's your name? You remember that?" Tembarom put
it to him.

"N-n-no !" agonizingly. "If I could! If I could!"