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He was, in fact, one of those upon whom the equilibrium of the social system rests. He was unfortunate, oppressed and acquiescent. Arriving early in the forenoon he set up his shop, lighted his fire and took his place on the soapbox. When the lights began to wink out along this highway of evil ghosts Mottka was still to be seen hunched over his chestnut roaster and waiting.
He is very likely a lookout for some bootlegger gang or criminal mob. And I will keep an eye on him." Mottka remained unaware of Policeman Billing's attention. He continued to sit hunched over his roaster, nursing the little fire under it as best he could and waiting. But finally Policeman Billings called himself to his attention in no uncertain way.
And Policeman Billings felt the presence of much of this evil lingering in the brick walls, broken windows and sagging pavements of the district. It was after a number of days on the beat that Policeman Billings began to take Mottka seriously. There was something curious about the chestnut vender, and the eye of the good officer grew narrow with suspicion.
"What's your name?" asked the good officer, stopping before the chestnut vender. "Mottka," answered Mottka. "And what are you doing here?" asked Policeman Billings, frowning. "I roast chestnuts and sell them," said Mottka. "Hm!" said Policeman Billings, "you do, eh? Well, we'll see about that. Come along." Mottka rose without question. One does not ask questions of an officer of the law.
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