Blind Mice

I

The suburban train was crowded and the stops were frequent.

Two young men, who had secured seats near the end of their car, were occupied, one in reading an evening paper and the other in making some calculations in a note book. The one reading stopped often to quote a news item to his companion, or to make some remark. This was John Winter. He was rather short and well nourished, one of the men who indicate that in later years they will grow stout. He had very blue eyes and fair hair and his clear skin was smoothly shaven. His cheeks were pink and white, his lips very red. His clothing, which was of the latest cut, was dark blue. He wore, as was his invariable custom, a necktie the exact color of his eyes, which was for him a most becoming combination. With this exception, however, his dress showed a noticeable lack of care. He had a somewhat boisterous and affectionate manner, and a rather loud voice. When excited or interested he had a boyish way of removing his hat and running his fingers through his hair.

His friend, James Sprague, did not seem to mind John’s interruptions and replied good naturedly. Both appeared in the best of spirits and the good understanding between them was evident.