Why, I didn’t even have a key to the park. I’d let myself in with a cunning little piece of high-tempered German steel. The lock on the gate is a shockingly simple one to pick. It’s surprising more people don’t let themselves in when they want to spend an hour away from dogs and strangers.

“This business of running around the park,” Miss Henrietta was saying. “There goes one of them now. Look at him, won’t you?”

I looked. The chap in question was around my age, somewhere in his middle thirties, but he’d lost a good deal of his hair. Perhaps he’d run out from under it. He was running now, or jogging, or whatever.

“You see them day and night, winter and summer. There’s no end to it. On cold days they wear those suits, sweating suits I believe they’re called. Unbecoming gray things. On a warm night like tonight they wear cotton shorts. Is it healthy to carry on like that, do you suppose?”

“Why else would anyone do it?”

Miss Henrietta nodded. “But I can’t believe it’s good for one,” she said. “It looks so unpleasant. You don’t do anything of the sort, do you?”

“Every once in a while I think it might be good for me. But I just take two aspirin and lie down until the thought passes.”

“I believe that’s wise. It appears ridiculous, for one thing, and nothing that looks so ridiculous can possibly be good for you.” Once more a sigh escaped her lips. “At least they’re constrained to do it outside the park,” she said, “and not inside the park. We’ve that to be thankful for.”