me farmer's cart, or been left by some animal in haste. "Just
what I was looking for!" the old man said very joyfully. "Chicken
brains make real good soup." Into his pocket with the bottle cap
went the brains, and down the road with his cane went the old man.

It was not long after this that he saw another, much larger item in
the road before him, which looked, from where he now was, just
exactly like a fat roll of paper money. Blessing his astrological
reading promising riches for that day, he made his way up to the
spot with a speed truly remarkable for a person of his age and
infirmities, and anxiously bent over to retrieve his treasure. A
closer look, however, and a confirming touch revealed that the man
had found a "road apple," or, as it is sometimes called, a "horse
biscuit." "Just what I was looking for," the old man said, now more
perfectly pleased than ever; "I can use this biscuit to cook my
chicken soup. Seems dry enough to burn right well."

Now the old man, between his nearsightedness and his preoccupation
with his great discoveries, wandered unknowingly over to the side of
the road, and pretty soon he stepped off into a ditch and fell down
with remarkable violence. A farmer not very far off saw this
episode, and hurried over to help the old man up. As he got to his
feet, the old man, wincing with pain and holding one arm, cried out
with a tone of satisfaction, "A broken arm! Just what I was looking
for! A broken arm can be very useful." The farmer blinked once or
twice, recognizing that this sentiment did not conform with what his
own would have been under the like circumstances, but he said
nothing. Instead, he quite generously helped the old gentleman into
his cart and took him to town.

When the two arrived, the farmer dutifully summoned a doctor and the
constable and some others of note in the place and repeated how the
old man had fallen and broken his arm, only to exclaim that such a
result was apparently what he had intended. This narrative caused
some strange looks and a little discussion among them, and no one
could think what to do next (aside from fixing the man's arm), when
the constable suddenly remembered that he did not know the man's
name. "Sir," he asked, "have you any identification?"

"Why, I think so, sonny," replied the old man, beginning to fumble
in his various pockets, and then, to the indescribable surprise of
his audience, to remove what they did not know, and