In Manhattan, a scrawny little character scurried up Sixth Avenue, peering in a timid manner at elevated trains, passersby. On the lookout for anarchists about to bomb subway stations, Patrolman William Burns, wearing official trousers, civilian coat, as he returned to his 4 a. m. beat, gave chase. "Stop!" he bellowed, lumbering after his prey. Scared, the little man he was chasing ducked into a bystreet. "They must be after somebody," he thought. "I don't want to get hit if they start shooting." Patrolman Burns, scenting adventure, shot twice into the air...
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