I This story, let me tell you my friend, is neither about a mouse nor it took place in the city of Manhattan. But it once occurred to me, while I was on a vacation and intended to see a few of the Danish cities where I came to know of such an incident. I was sitting inside one club which was at a decent distance away from the Odense River. The smooth wave of the river and the pleasant breeze outside turned the evening to a perfect one. A young man who was the waiter, waiting to take further orders, was walking at all the corners with a small piece of paper in his hand. On the opposite table there was one old man who was constantly looking at me and then at intervals was writing something in his diary. Sometimes he would glance at the window to take…