A light rain filtered through the huge elm trees and covered the park benches with a fine mist. Although it was a mild midsummer afternoon the rain had sent most of the bench sitters scurrying for cover, and a quiet air of desertion hung over the street. The street paralleled a city park golf course, and came to a dead end at the lake front. Occasionally the voices of golfers could be heard across the heavy growth of bushes which separated the fair ways from the sidewalk.

An old man sat on one of the benches at the far end of the street. He wore a threadbare navy blue yachting coat with gold buttons, a soiled white tee shirt, white cotton pants, and a pair of dirty grey tennis sneakers. A battered yachting cap tilted to a rakish angle clung to his head. A certain dignity of bearing coupled with the open intelligence of his large unshaven face made him appear rather more impressive than ridiculous.