Sport: Louis Phal

On a clear winter midnight last week, a patrolman standing in the shadow of a doorway on West 42nd St., Manhattan, saw a figure proceeding irregularly toward him, now with a kittenish skip, now with a wobbling adaptation of a popular dance-step, now with a stride that sagged curiously sideways. The patrolman stepped out of shadow. The night-wanderer raised a hand in genial recognition.

"Hi, boy," he remarked. "I'm on my way home."

The patrolman grunted. "Keep on your way," he responded without warmth, "and don't forget that's where you're going."

The lurcher—revealed by a...

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