Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 February 1913 — THE WRONG COAT [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE WRONG COAT

By HAROLD MacGRATH

Author v ‘The Man on the Box,” “The Goose Giri,” Etc.

(Copyright, by the Bobbs-Merrill Company)

'' F it hadn’t rained at Wa- •- »• ■ ■ terloo Napoleon Light not ■ I have sunk to the obscure ■ I fame of a cigar label; if Lot’s wife (whose name, at this particular moment, '■ I fall to recollect) hadn’t looked around, many’s the rumorist who would be shy sundry half dollars; if Ulysses hadn’t met Calypso. Penelope’s knitting would have been accomplished in a reasonably small compass oftime; .thus, if, on the morning of March tenth, a blizzard hadn’t romped in from the Atlantic, there wouldn’t have been any wrong coat. The day before had been treacherously warm and springlike, and I had gone about my affairs without any boat. It is always the seemingly infinitesimal things that count heaviest tat the final reckoning. I hadn’t gone two blocks from* Mouquin’s that night, when I noted the fact that I was wearing a coat that did not belong to me. With a growl I turned around and went back. I simply wasted my time; my coat was nowhere to be found. I stormed about, sending the waiters jumping all over the restaurant, but to no avail. FlnaiY ly I calmed down and admitted that it was all my own fault. I should have examined the coat when I shouldered into it So I left word at the cashier’s desk and sought the street again. Doubtless you have lost a coat or hat, in your time, if you who read happen to be a man. It is curious, but, no matter how much you are bettered in the exchange, you raise a howl—you make the echoes ache with your lamentations, "fhere is nothing on earth you want save your own coat and hat. To be sure, if. In the pockets, of the wrong coat, there happen to be several thousand dollars, your howl is modified and innocuous, and you go at once to look for the ( other fellow—perhaps. But, as in this instance there were only thirty-five cents, a canceled railroad ticket, and a scattering of cloves and, tabloids for the breath, my cries were heard afar. Hang all absent-minded duffers, myself included, whose wits go woolgathering at bad times! The coat was just like mine, a light gray winter paddock, lined with heavy satin. The only difference lay in the sleeves: these had small-change pockets, whereas mine had none. It was even exchange and no robbery, but I was none the less angry. The truth is, it was just after the first of the month and tllere were four or five unpaid bills in the Inside pocket of my coat. (One was the bill for the coat!) So I climbed the stairs to the elevated station in no amiable frame of mind. Well, well; it really did not matter if the gentleman who had appropriated my coat learned that I owed my tailor. To owe one’s tailor as long as the law permits is quite customary—not only customary, but also proper afid commendable. The other bills were for cigars, gloves and hats; that is to say, of no great importance. I plumped into a vacant seat and glowered at the street below, it had stopped snowing and the wind had gone down. For once in my life I took no interest in the advertising signs. I wanted my coat, and for all I knew the man who had it might stumble under an automobile dnd ruin the garment; and, even if he didn’t ruin it, it would smell tolerably strong of gasoline. I conjured up all manner of catastrophes regarding the ultimate end of my coat. The other fellow might be burned up In it; he might fall down a greasy elevator shaft in it; he might even be lugged to jail in it, which was not at all unlikely, the cloves and tabloids speaking not very well for his habits. Was there ever such luck? Having no newspaper with which to pass away the time, I fell once more to rummaging the wrong coat. As 1 searched the pockets my sense of guilt was in nowise agitated. Doubtless the owner was at that moment going through the pockets of my coat. Thus, honors were even. But I found nothing by which to identify my man. One’s identity cannot be established by means of thirty-five cents, a worthless ticket,'and a few cloves. A. Conan Doyle might accomplish such a feat, but I couldn’t . . . Hqllo! What was this? From the handkerchief pocket I drew forth an envelope; but, as I glanced at it my hopes slumped. The address side was missing; only the sealing-flaps remained. I was about to toss it contemptuously into the aisle, when I discovered that It was covered with pencil scrlbblings. . . . Merciful heavens! I held the thing under my very nose snd read, with horrified eyes: "Girl must die between twelve a|d one o'clock. "Chloroform,— “Bow-window at side unlatched,— enter there. "Safe in library. Secure wl L - Leave by front door. "Servants’ night out.—Oirl alone.? Mystery! I sat up straight and breathed quickly. I saw it all vety plainly. Fate had thrust this cost upon me; Fate had given me a mission; I might be the means of saving the girl’s life. I was an amateur detective, after a fashion, and more than once, in the old newspaper days, I had succeeded where the police baa failed. In a tar corner of the envelope was a house address. Without doubt 'it was the very house in which this

der was to be committed. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. There plenty of time. ... Or, had the crime already been perpetrated? I shuddered. It was left for me to find out. "Servants’ night out," I thought. This might or might not be servants’ night out. In any event I Should have the happiness of confounding a great rascal. From the address I learned that the house was located in a particularly aristocratic part of the West side. But why should he kill the girl? Ha! I had it. There was a will. No doubt she stood between! With the girl dead, the property would fall to him. It sounded like a play at the Fourteenth Street theater; but, in real life, the melodrama is closest to our every-day affairs. ' • I at once -determined not to notify the police; they would only bungle the matter with the red tape of delay. I could call them in when the work was over. And to think that this ruffian’s taste in overcoats was one and identical with mine! I had half a notion to tear off the coat, only it would have attracted attention—and, besides, it was cold.

Some men would have shrugged their shoulders and permitted the thing to go on. in a great city the good Samaritan is usually looked upon as a meddler; and', besides, every one has trouble enough of his own. The girl was nothing to me; even her name was unknown. I hoped, however, that she was beautiful and young. My duty lay clear enough. It was possible to save a human being, and that was all there was to the matter. Any right-minded man would have done exactly as I did, though hardly with the same result. (This is not to say that I’m not right-minded, however!) If I should save the girl from her persecutor, I should always have something to fall hack on if by any chance I myself left the straight and narrow way. To save a life is to do penance for many sins. Putting aside all flippant moralizing, it was an adventure such as invariably appeals to me, and it is a habit of mine to pursue things to the end. It is a fine and noble pursuit, that of research. But sometimes, as in cases ' like this adventure of mind, persons lacking my sense of the romantic, are called busybodies.

I do not recollect what street it was in the eighties that the guard bawled out, but it was near enough for my purpose. I hurried out of the car and down the steps of the elevated. Everybody gets in the way of a man in a hurry; so, for a block or more, the time was spent in making apologies to gruff-tempered persons. They would get in my way, and they would demand what I meant by not looking where I was going. Finally I succeeded in ridding myself of the crowds, and turned into a quiet and sober street. The sign on the lamp post told me that I had arrived on the scene. It was twenty minutes past eleven. Two things were possible: either the girl had been killed the night before or I had half an hour or so in whjch to render her the greatest possible service. The house proved to be a fine structure, one of those few dwellings in the metropolis that boasts of anything like a court or yard. This yard was at the right of the building, and was more a roadway to the stables in the rear than anything else. Still, I may stretch it a point and call it a yard. I cast a hasty glance about. Not a soul was in sight. I tried one of the gates. It was unlatched! This certainly must be the night. I stole up the roadway cautiously. The fact that I left some fine tracks in the snow did not disturb me. I was not guilty of anything wrong. Yes,, there was the bow-window through which the rascal was to enter. There would be a surprise in store for him. A subdued light shone through the .-halfclosed bllnde. Some one was awake; doubtless the girl herself, reading. Everything was working out nicely. J would even save her any real annoyance. .... .-..,2 •

I tiptoed back to the gate, and was about to make my exit, when 1 paused/ horrified, my heart in my mouth. Coming airUy along the walk was a policeman. He was whistling popular Irish melodies and swinging his nightstick. The deuce! Suppose he took It into his head to examine the gate! I hid behind the great stone gate-post, breathing with difficulty. If there was anything in the world I did not want to happen, It was to be arrested in this other fellow’s coat! Besides the policeman wouldn't believe a word 1 said. ’ He would hale me to the nearest police station, and all my efforts to save the girl would come to nothing. The policeman did, start for the gate, but a cat fight across the street distracted him and he crossed over to break up the conflict I was saved. After a reasonable length of time, I stole forth. It was a close shave. I dare say that I have omitted the fact that l am young, still under thirty, and am a struggling dramatist, after having been a struggling poet, -into which craft I had drifted after having been a struggling humorist. The main fault of >y want of success I lay to the fact that I do not look the various parts. As a dramatist, I lack the

requisite irritability of temper; as a poet, I. have not that distinct disregard for personal appearance usually considered characteristic; as a humorist, I am totally deficient of the long, cadaverous and dyspeptic countenance and .lusterless eye of the typical writer of funny fancies. When my uncle died and left me a comfortable income, Art received a staggering blow, from which it is doubtful she will ever recover. A spinster aunt insists that I am more than ordinarily agreeable to the eye; but, of course, blood is partial to blood. That is enough for the present of what the amiable Thackeray called "first person, singular, perpendicular/* When once more in the street, I boldly approached the steps, mounted slowly, and pushed the button. • If a maid or a footman should open the door, I should know Instantly that it was not servants’ night off. it remained only for the girl herself to answer my summons. : This she did. f I remarked, elsewhere, that I hoped she would be young and beautiful. She was. I wasn’t exactly expecting such a vision of loveliness. Her hair was like golden cobwebs, her eyes like sapphires, and her complexion had the shadowy bloom of a young peach. I stared, standing first on one foot, then on the other. i “What is it?” she asked, rather impatiently. It was quite evident that she had been deeply absorbed in the book she held in her hand. I wondered how 1 should begin! “Well, sir?” “Are you the young lady of the house?” I finally summoned up the courage to ask. "Yes.” The door moved perceptibly —toward me. “I have, then, something of vital importance to tell you.” / “Cali tomorrow morning,” she replied briefly. The door continued to move in my direction. ‘ I saw that I must act quickly, or turn the matter over to the police, which I was exceedingly loath to do; “It is a matter of life and death,” 1 said determinedly. “Life and death? Whose?”' she asked, with discouraging brevity. Then she cried suddenly: “Has anything happened to my brother?" “Brother? Not that I know. It is you!” "What?” She Inclined toward me, and Tor a moment the door ceased to gravitate outward. “You possess a terrible enemy, known or unknown.” "An enemy? ... I haven’t the least idea, sir, what the meaning of this hoax can—” “Hoax!” I interrupted. “It isn’t a

hoax; it is frightfully serious, as you will soon learn, if you will only be so kind as to give me a few moments of your attention.” There spread over her beautiful face various shades of amazement, indignation and fear. Hoax! It was, indeed, a very ungrateful world. Decidedly, this time, the girl meant to close the door in my face. Resolutely, I shouldered past her into the hailß "How dare you?” she cried, her wonderful eyes 'blazing and wrath dyeing her cheeks. “If you do not instantly go I shall call for help. How dare you?" “This is servants* night out, and your aunt is away,” I said, intending to tell her all at once. But she suddenly drew back against the wall and gazed at me as if for all the world I resembled the uprising of Jason’s dragon teeth. “What do you want?" she asked, in a panting whisper. “There isn’t a penny in the house!” Goodness! if the girl didn’t take me for a burglar! “Do you think I’m a burglar?” 1 gasped. "But,” —piteously. “I am simply here to do you a service; and it is a service." “There are no jewels save these rings. Take them and go." stripped her fingers and held the rings toward me. 1 flushed hotly. “Will you do me the honor to listen to me?" I asked, as calmly as I could. "Put back those rings: otherwise I shall regret that 1 took It upon myself to befriend you. I am not a burglar." She complied, but the terror in her eyes subsided none. (I learned after-

ward that several robberies had recently been committed in the neighborhood.) ' . “At a restaurant, tonight,” I began, **l got another man’s coat by mistake. In a pocket of this coat 1 found evidence that a terrible crime was about to be perpetrated. I, came here to aid you.” She stared at me wildly and tumbled her rings. “You have,” I continued, "a deadly enemy, a wretch who wishes to put you out ofthe way. You may not know who he is, but none the less he exists. You stand between him and a will. It is money, the greed of it, that brings him like a wolf to your door. According to my information, he is to enter here between the hours of twelve and one, chloroform you, and pilfer the safe. He knows the habits of this household well, for he is aware that on this night neither your aunt nor your servants would be in.” She still eyed me with unchanging terror. "It was only human on my part,” 1 went on, “to make known to you what I had found.” Suddenly an Inexplicable change came over her. “Yes, yes; I see, I understand! Thank you! Oh, thank you!” hysterically. “Come into tije drawing room and sit down. I have been dreading this moment for months!” Dreading it for months? And yet she remained alone in this big house? I was vastly puzzled; but I followed her into the drawing room and sat down, waiting for a further explanation on her part. She was a rarely beautiful creature, and the idea that any man could harbor thoughts against this exquisite life filled my soul with horror. “The will is in the safe, but the safe Is in the library. Wait till 1 go and see if the papers are Intact.” She hurried from the room, leaving me with a sense of utter bewilderment. There was something about her present actions that I could not understand. She was gonefully five minutes. When she returned she was very pale, but all her agitation was gone or suppressed. “The will is there; nothing, as yet, has been disturbed. Tell me all you know” —looking anxiously at the clock, the hands of which were now close upon midnight. I reviewed the whole affair. “Yes, I have a terrible enemy, who seeks my life at every turn” —her slender fingers snarling and unsnarling. I nodded comprehensively. "You ought never to be alone,” I said. "I realize that. This will . . . leaves me untold mining property. ... To my horror I must confess that this man is a near relative.” “Your brother?" I whispered.

“Heavens, no! A cousin; yea, that is it,' a cousin. I live from day to day in constant misery.” “Frightful!" “Is it not? And I am so young!” Then she proceeded to tell me what 1 believed to be the family history. It was marvelously complicated. “It seems Incredible,” I observed; “yet we read of like tales every day in the newspapers.” ’And no words of mine can express my thanks to you, sir. You have pot me on my guard. I had heard that my uncle —’’ "Uncle?” “Did I say uncle?" —with a catchy sort of laugh. “I meant cousin. I was going to say that I had heard he had left the country.” But why did she watch me so closely? Every move 1 made caused her to atari. When I turned down the collar of the other fellow’s coat, she shuddered; when I drew off my gloves, she paled; when I folded my arms, she sent a terrified glance toward the door. I could not make any sense out of her actions. “To prove the manner of his entrance, let mo see if the bow-window is unlatched. But wait!” I cried, producing the frayed envelope. "Listen to this and see how carefully he planned it, the rascal!” I then read to her the scribbling, putting careful emphasis on the bow-window and servants’ night out “Now, if you do not mind, I’ll try the window.” Sure enough, it was unlatched! “You seer* 1 cried triumphantly. The wild look returned to the girl’s eyes. “Let—let me see that paper!”— bolding one hand to her throat while

the other she stretched out toward me. I gave the paper to her. She glanced at it, dropped it, and bunt intb tears. “Good heavens!" I cried. Then she, laughed shrilly and hysterically. “What is the matter?" “You positively came here, then, to do me a real service; and all the while I have been thinking that you were a— ’’ “What?” “A lunatic!"—covering her face. “A lunatic?" I was absolutely dumfounded. "Yes; and when I left the room it was simply to call the police. The manner of your entrance —the incredible thing you told me, —sir, there is some dreadful mistake. I haven’t an enemy in the whole world. There is no will in*the safe. My brother and 1 live with our aunt, who owns this house. _We have no property whatever. What I have been telling you was in the effort to keep you in good humor till the police arrived. But what can it all mean? It is simply incredible." I picked up the envelope and stared at it stupidly. ‘The address is the same,” I said, trying to find something to stand on. . • ■ “I know it; that’s what makes it so uncanny. I cannot possibly understand. Perhaps the police can untangle It” The police! 1 saw that I should have to give n good account of myself when the police arrived. Where did 1 stand, anyhow? What did it mean? No man would write such a thing for the fun of it. “I’m sorry,” said I awkwardly. “I thought I was doing right Indeed, 1 really thought so.” "And I thank you. You will admit that some of my suspicions were excusable. To whom am I indebted?” — graciously. In this mood she was charming. I told her my nan& She loked puzzled, and finally shook her,head. ' “It has a familiar sound, but I cannot place it” “There goes the bell!” I exclaimed. “It’s the police—come for the lunatic!”

The girl flew to the door. I could easily read her mind. If I was a burglar or a lunatic, the police meant protection; in case my errand was in good faith, there would still be the po 1 lice to greet the mysterious stranger. Presently she returned, followed by a private detective and two policemen. “Is this the fellow?" asked the former, scowling at me. ; The girl explained, father incoherently, her mistake. Everybody sat down. It was quite a social gathering, or would have been but for the scrutiny of the police, which'l bore none too well. From all sides questions came popping at me, and it was only by the use of the telephone connecting my bachelor quarters that I succeeded in establishing my Identity. The frayed envelope was vastly interesting to the police. They read it forward and backward, upside down, and even held it close to the fire to see if any sympathetic ink had been used in writing It.

“I guess Mr. Carewe’s a well-meap-in’ chap, miss,” volunteered the detective. “But this matter will need close attention. It looks like a tough proposition.” He began to ply her with questions, but to no avail. During the examination I vaguely wondered what the other fellow was doing with my coat. The clock on the mantel struck half after midnight. “There’s only one thing to be done,” said the detective; “and that’s to turn out the lights and wait for the bloodthirsty gent.” For three-quarters of an hour we five sat in the semi-darkness, our ears strained" to catch the. faintest foreign sound. Once I sneezed suddenly, and one of the policemen nearly fell out of his chair. It may seem funny to you who read, but it was mighty serious to the girl and myself. The suspense was nerve-racking. We scarcely dared breathe naturally. The occasional slumping of the coal in the grate was pregnant with terrors. And our faces, seen but dimly, were drawn and tense with the silent watching. Every eye was directed toward the baleful window, through which, at any moment, we expected to see a man crawl. “Sh!” The detective raised a warning hand. On the stillness of the night there came a clicking sound, like that of a key being inserted in a lock. Presently we heard the hail door open and close. We waited in agony, or. at least I did. Possibly a minute passed, and then we saw the figure of a man loom in the doorway. We saw his arm extend toward the electric-light button, and instantly the room became brilliant with Jigbt The young man blinked at us and we blinked at him. “If you move a step,” said the detective threateningly, “I’ll plug you full o’ lead.” , "What the d— —F’ began the newcomer, gazing from face to face. "Stop!" cried the girt, springing to bls side; “it is my brother!" Her brother! I looked at the man with indescribable horror. He had on my coat! And. more than this, he waa a man on whose honor 1 would formerly have staked my life—Arthur Kellerd. one of my classmates at college. And thia exquisite girl was his sister, the girl I bad always been wanting to meet! "Your brother!” cried the detective, taken aback. _ jL. ... •. * "Yes. her brother," said Kellerd amiably. "Now, what’s all this pother

about, anyhow?" Here he chanced to get a good square look at me, “Hang me, if it isn’t Dicky CareWe! —and wearing my coat!” He came' forward and grasped my limp hand and pumped it. “If you only knew how I’ve been cursing you!” he added, laughing. Then everybody began to talk at once, and nobody would have learned anything had not the detective resolutely interfered. He thrust the frayed envelope under Kellerd's nose, “Do you know anything about this?” he demanded. ■*-- Kellerd scrutinized it for a moment, and then began to laugh; I might say that he roared. “I’m askin’ you If you know anything about it?” repeated the detective coldly. ;. "I ought to know all about it,” answered Kellerd finally; “I wrote it not four days ago.” ' “Arthur!” cried the girl, her voice full of shame, horror, anguish and reproach. “Come, come, Nancy; it’s all a curious mistake, a very curious mistake; and you’ll all readily understand why I laughed, when I explain." , “A joke, eh?", said the detective “Perhaps you can explain it, and perhaps you can’t," —truculently. “Easily. You have doubtless heard of Norman Douglas,” he began. The police shook their heads, but the girl and ! looked Interested. "Douglas is .the fellow who's writing all those queer detective yarns for the magazines,” said I. “Well," said Kellerd, “I’ve been trying to keep it dark, but here’s where I must confess. I’m Douglas, and that slip of paper represents the climax to a chapter in a new story. Come into the library, gentlemen." We followed soberly, even foolishly. Kellerd drew out from a drawer tn his desk a bundle of manuscript, and the paragraph he read aloud coincided with the writing on the envelope. “Well, I’m jiggered!” breathed the detective heavily. I looked around for a hole to crawl into, but there wasn’t any. “Your sister notified us that a lunatic was at large and had forcibly entered the house,” said the detective, perfectly willing to cast all the odium on my shoulders. (I could have throttled him with joy in my heart!) “A lunatic?” roared Kellerd. For a moment I thought he was going to die of suffocation, and if he had I should not have been sorry at that moment. To have made an ass of myself before the prettiest girl I bad ever laid eyes on! ~ ‘Tm very sorry," said the girl. “Never you mind," 1 replied. “Some day I’ll tell you all about the tabloids for the breath I found in Arthur’s coat" A short time after, the policemen solemnly filed out into the hall and into the street; and, not being in a strictly amiable frame of mind, I started to follow. “Oh. hang it, now, Dicky!” cried Kellerd; "a man who used to be a professional joke-writer ought not to harbor any ill feelings. Have a cigar?” I shook my head. I had an idea that I wanted to utilize. "But I want you to meet my sister.” '1 am delighted,”—-bowing rather stiffly. “But you’re not going off with my coat again!” I flushed, and shook the erstwhile evil garment from my shoulders. “Not just a friendly cigar?" pleaded Kellerd. "Nary a one.” The girl approached shyly and touched my arm. (This was my idea.) "Not even a cup of chocolate,—if I make it?" ♦ “Oh,” said I, "that’s altogether a different matter.” Subsequent events proved that it was.

Sad Plight of Uncle Wagner Weems. "Uncle Wagner Weems is sadly afflicted,” remarked John Henry Jurnlgan. “He is a chronic and consistent advanced thinker, with all the love possessed by most radical persons for unbridled conversation, but just now he Is blessed with the asthma, and can hardly breathe, let alone argue and declaim. And when he thinks of the outrages that are being perpetrated by the plutocrats, and the fact that the money power is holding the noses of the vox popull hard down on the grindstone of financial degradation until it’s a livin' wonder that there is a nose more than three-six-teenths of an inch long left In circulation among the tillers tollers, and the urgent need for somebody to say something about it, and finds himself unable to do more than gasp like an expiring catfish, the expression on his countenance is well worth noticing.’* —Kansan City Star.