Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 100, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1920 — The Man Nobody Knew [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Man Nobody Knew

(Copyright toy Dodd. M—4 A O*.. Tae.)

By HOLWORTHY HALL

"PERHAPS THEY COPIED THAT PICTURE TOO WELL."

Bynop«l*.—ln a baa* hospital at Neuilly. Franc*, hl* fac* dl*fl<ur*d beyond recognition. an American aoidier serving In the French army attract* attention by his deep despondency. Asked by the surgeons for a photograph to gold* them tn making over hi* face, b* offers tn derision a plctur* of the Savior, bidding them take that as a model. They do so, making a remarkable likeness. Invalided home, on th* boat he meets Martin Harmon. New York broker, who is attracted by his remarkable features Th* *x-*oldler give* his name as "Henry Hilliard.” and hia home as Syracuse, New York. He left ther* under a cloud, and is embittered a gainer hia former fellow townsmen. Harmon offera him a Job.

CHAPTER 11/—Continued. The younger man glanced at the cart. “My name Is Hilliard. Well — to competition so keen yon can afford to pay that high for business, or is the stuff just hard to sell?” Harmon,-who had begun to nod as|aent to the first question, looked rather flblank at the second, but rallied Kuickly. “Competition. But there’s money in ft, and you'll get your share of it too — believe me! Eve got a sneaking suspicion that you and I can do business together. Want .to consider it?” “All this on such short acqualntiance? Aren’t yon taking a fearful •chance?” Harmon saw that the young man's irises were extremely luminous and clear; he leaned forward seriously. “I’m simply backing my hunch, son. Tn the long run it pays me—pays me ■writ Tre sort of taken a fancy to you. As far as I know you may be the rottenest salesman in the whole United States; I wouldn't hire your » experience without some references, ■and maybe a surety company back of jyou; but Ed hire that face of yours, •and your manner, and your voice offihand. Td hire your front—not your tpast I And let me tell you right now, leon, I never made a trade as fast as ■this before in my life. But there’s toomethlng about you that . . . Well?’ The young man was thoughtful and unblinking. “You’re actually making me a prop «sttion, are you?” “Absolutely”—Harmon’s fist on the Table provided the exclamation point. “Here— l don't know you, and you •don’t know me, but if you’re hunting Ifor a job you’ve found it . . • It’s jyour next move.” The young man’s lips parted In (grave good humor; Harmon was spellJbound at the effect. - *TII try not to keep you waiting. •This speed of yours rather entices me. presides, if my face is my fortune. I’d ibetter find it out as soon as possible. This organisation of yours is in New York city, isn’t it?” “My headquarters are, but Td want you to work outside. I’ve got one special town in mind—up the state. That's •where this list is. It's always been me of our hardest markets, and It’s ,got money to burn. Can’t swing it, ■somehow —they don’t respond to any ordinary selling talk; they’re too hldebound conservative. You know the {kind. Government-bond crowd. And sfor a year or so they’ve been making rwar profits till you can’t see ’em for Must. Manufacturing town. And Td Hike mighty well to ship you up there Ifor a month or two; give you time <enough to get your bearings, and turn you loose. You ought to do great work Ito a place like that. They need a chap Bike you—confound it!” He halted ■abruptly and shook his head in great bewilderment. “I can’t make it out at all! You’ve got the appearance of . a . . - well, a sort of a strait-laced youngster, if you know what I mean, and yet the way you say things, I—” The young man gestured blandly. ”And the town you have in mind?” “It's Syracuse, New York." “Syracuse?” The young man’s chin was squared by a ruler, and noticeably thrust forward. “Yes; know anybody there?” Hilliard laughed unpleasantly and resumed his former attitude. “Why, it so happens,” he said, biting the words off sharply, ‘“that I was born and brought up in Syracuse, and there’s any one place in the world Il care less about than any other place shaf* the one . . . Em sorry, but Tm afraid we’re at cross purposes from here on." Harmon showed his vexation. *What*s the matter? Haven’t you kept tan good terms with your old friends?” “No.” Harmon frowned. “Well, is it so bad you couldn’t do any business there? How remember you?” The young Eton’ regarded him ston«ty for an instant; then gradually a fwr-away expression crept into his wyes; he started and “ caught his Til let you judge for jpurself." He brought out a flat leatbeWWtoiaL from which he extracted a tiny photograph, ton from an old passport. “What do mm think of that?" -.J f Hermon scanned it superficially. “Nice-looking boy. Who is he?” *lt was taken two years ago," said Hilliard, resting his elbows on the ' remember me, so I'm showing yon. That’s a photograph of me, taken two “Impossible!" Harmon snorted it -That doesn’t took any more like you

than . . . than I do! Let’s omit the comedy; Em talking business!” The young man's mouth curled. “Don’t be mistaken, Mr. Harmon—there’s very little joking in me when I ever mention Syracuse.” Harmon shivered at the tone, but waved the photograph in scoffing accusation. “You’re not trying to sit there and tell me—" “I told you I was In hospital for nearly a year, I believe," said Hilliard Icily. “It was shrapnel—across the face. As a matter of fact I didn’t have much of any face left. But the surgeons—they’re pretty clever. Yes — they're clever!” Hilliard’s eyes were needle points. “They make a man over from his own photograph. In my own case I preferred it differently. So when they asked me for something to use as a pattern in remodeling me I gave ’em this!” He tossed out a picture postcard, soiled and frayed.' “Well, that’s where the trouble began. They cursed me up and down for a . .. still that pkrt of ft won’t interest you!" His eyes were blazing now, and his voice shook with passion. “Naturally I hadn’t meant it as d d literal as all that . . . but they had me under ether before I could help myself . . . and they went through with it . . \ and cursed me some more afterward . . . They couldn't copy it exactly, of course, but they did the best they could. . . . Gloated over it! Took infinite pains to make it perfect . . . and sneered at me while they did it! Sneered —and laughed. . . Well, you’ve got the results in front of you. That’s what I was—and that’s what I am! What’s your opinion now?” The last sentence came snarling through set teeth. The broker’s pupils had dilated grossly; his eyes wandered vacantly from the photograph to the postcard and back to Hilliard’s face. His whole imagination was pinned down and crushed; he swore softly under his breath and wet his lips. “It’s a ... a miracle!" he stammered. “A miracle! . . .” “The photograph," said Hilliard harshly, “Is the way they remember me up in Syracuse. Do you think they’d ever recognize me now?” “It’s a miracle . . . it’s paralyzing! . . .” Harmon swallowed hard, and looked down almost fearfully at the time-worn postcard. “There’s so much difference . . . nobody’d ever think of It without knowing . . . but when you see the original! . . It ... it knocks me all in a heap! It’s staggering! And they did that to you! Just to think they could do that to you I . . . Eve got -to have a drink!” ,

Hilliard motioned impatiently, but his fit of rage was slowly going down. “There’s no miracle about it at all. It was good plastic surgery. If they’d sent jne out looking as I used to you wouldn’t call it a miracle, would you? No. It’s only what they did do that makes it staggering. But it’s clever — oh, yes—clever! And you can see for yourself how few marks of it there are.” He drew a long breath and managed to smile again; but the effect was shocking, for while his features were composed and kindly his eye» were venomous. “Well, I certainly never Intended to go to Syracuse’again for pleasure, but if there’s enough compensation to pay for the risk Em not afraid to try it on . . . business.” His accent sent cold chills coursing down Harmon’s spine. “In fact now that I think of it, it ought to be rather amusing!” The broker was striving to pull himself together. “But why on earth didn’t you have ’em use your own picture for a copy . . . if they’re as clever as . . . Oh!” He stopped short and his chin dropped. “Oh! Is that the answer?” “Yes,” said Hilliard, reclaiming the two photographs. "That’s the answer.I didn’t mind' starting over again only—” He sighed and inhaled mightily. “Only take, my advice, Mr. Harmon, and don’t lose your temper just before an operation." . • Harmon breathed more freely, but he was still In violent intellectual distress. He round face was vapid with awe, and he was tongueing his Ups in constant nervousness, for the complete possibility of the situation was creeping over him. “If that’s the case,” he ventured, "why . . . they needn’t recognize your name either, Mr. Hilliard, need they? I mean, if you had any Idea at going back to your home town incognito, as it were-" “They wouldn’t recognise anything about me," raid Hilliard dryly. His teeth, showing at the moment were white and regular as a young wolfs. "We won’t discuss that side of it just now, though But if I go back, Tm

Incognito—and don’t*' make any mistake about IL Is that quite dear?” Harmon swallowed again. • “They’d recognize your voice, wouldn't they?” “I had to get used to this one myself. Something went wrong with my vocal cords, and the antrum on both sides was hurt; it seemed to have an effect like changing a sounding-board.” “So! And you used to be fatter in the face, didn’t you? How about your general size, and so bn?” “I’ve taken on twenty-five pounds; my face Is a lot thinner, but there's a reason. It’hasn’t grown on me; It was manufactured. Incidentally, while I think of it my stride’s shortened six Inches. That’s another Identification gone. Bullet in my knee. I don’t exactly limp, but —” Harmon was beaming now, and flushed with excitement. “That’s great. Oh! that’s wonderful ! Wonderfull Nobody’ll know you from Adam! Thunder and lightning, what a chance —what a chance! Hold on —how well do you know the big men in Syracuse? Well enough to know what their weak points are? Well enough to know how to approach ’em? Know Cullen? Know the Durants? Know Embree and McEachern and Cooke? Know —" “At one time,” said Hilliard, with sudden tragedy Inhis eyes, “all those people you’ve just were about the closest friends I had in the world.” ' " * > ~ “Well, if you’ve got nerve enough to try to pass yourself off as a stranger, why—” “Just a moment!” The young man’s gesture, % although calm, was nevertheless commanding. “Now listen! I lived In Syracuse twenty-six years! If I ever had any friends there- Eve lost ’em now. I—” "Whose fault was It?”

“Whose fault? Don’t make me laugh! The point is that my friends and I aren’t on speaking terms.” “Go ahead,” said Harmon, satlsfl*'-!. “Do they know you went to France?” “They don’t know anything. I left between two days, Eve never written anybody so much as a line to -tell where I was, or what I was doing. I went over on a tramp. A French lieutenant got me into the army, and I didn’t give a d n whether I got killed or not—and then I got this.” His hand was on his cheek, where a long scar crossed IL “And for over a year I’ve been hoping that somehow, some time, I could get back at a few of those men . . . principally Cullen and Durant and McEachern. Get back hard —you understand! Perhaps this suggestion of yours will give me the opening. Perhaps it will. That’s what I’m wondering. Em thinking it over. That’s all.” • Harmon controlled himself; his. voice, when it came, was low and seductive. “Well,” he said, “could you get backany harder at people who. haven’t treated you right than by going back up there and making By putting something over on ’em —something

big, you understand—and making those fellows look cheap? That’s better than using a dub on ’em. Isn’t It? Coals of fire, man, coals of fire ! Show ’em what you can do— jour satisfaction in that. Don’t "Ifftt your enemies—you don't have to! Make-a profit out of ’em! And then . . oh well, I don’t care what you do after that —come out in the open and give ’em the ha-ha or not, just as you like. Could anything be a neater little comeback than that? More sort of Biblical and thorough? Poetic justice? Could nr • . Hilliard was still alert and rigid. "There’s a good selling argument? And something gopcHo sell?" "As straight as a. shoestring, and as sure as you’re a foot high. And if you can’t do business on this basis.

you couldn’t sell gold eagles for a dollar apiece! That’s flat!" “So I could go back —and honestly make good? All the way? Prove What I can do? And not have any backfire in itr “And have a chance,” said Harmon, nodding, “to put yourself in right again. That’s what my whole idea was. If you’re going to cash in on your hard luck, boy, you’ve got to speak up. That’s my policy. Cash In on this thing the doctors did for you! Let’s play it together, son. If it’s a sort of whitewashing you wanL Til help you. I don’t care a continental what you did to get in wrong In Syracuse —IPs that counts. Nothing else but success. Is it a bargain?” Hilliard shut his--teeth tight; reflected ; yielded abruptly. “It’s a bargain I” he said. “I’m with you!" "Good! Now —" “One moment! Let’s be frank with each other. Don’t get any Impression that Tve done anything that’s —■” “Mr. Hilliard, you don’t have to talk like that to rpel Eve had you sized up from the start, haven’t I?” “Yes, but I wanted you to know—” “But I do know, son! Wild oats, sort of. Am I righL or am I wrong? That’s why I’m banking on you. People turned up their noses, maybe. Said things. Gossip. I know that sort of business. And you’re sore —naturally. Well, this’ll poulticfe everybody, iDc eluding Go on back to your old friends. Yo™e a new man; they won’t know you. Make ’em new frieriHs —and there you are. Oh, here’s another suggestion. What would you say to no salary at all, twenty per cent commission, and no limit to your expense account? But you pay back half of your expenses out of your earned commissions. On —say, a three months’ tryout How dpes that strike

you?” “It . . . why, I don’t see what you’re driving at.” “Because,” said Harmon, “you’re worth more than I thought you were. How do I know? I’ve watched your eyes, son! You’re going into Syracuse with the finest plan, the finest front and the finest opportunity Tve ever dreamed of in all my life! And besides that, you’ve got a spur that even I couldn’t give you. . . . How are you fixed for money?” “I’m not fixed at all. Em broke.” Harmon fished for his bill-book, and folded two notes into a small* compass. “Here! Bind the bargain. Don’t worry—it’s an advance. I know who I can trust—that’s my longest suit, son. Give me a receipL if you like. Better not speak to ine again until we land. Never know who’s aboard that might see you later. Come to my office at ten o’clock the morning after we’re docked. And —” He laughed In patent relief. “You know, son,” he said, “Em a pretty wise old bird, and there’s not much that fools me, but . . ,*- right up to the last second, I wasn’t quite sure whether you’d take that job or not If the surgeon that mended you could only have doctored your eyes, son—if he could only have doctored your eyes! Whew!" He stared again at Hilliard, and nodded soberly. “Wonderful—perfectly wonderful,” he said, fascinated. “When you smile at me like that, I sort of feel as though I ought to get up and take off my hat and apologize to you, arid Em hanged if I know what for. . . . Perhaps they overdid it a trifle . . . copied that picture too well . . . why don’t you see if you can’t grow mustache . . .?”

CHAPTER HI. ’ According to the railway schedule, the journey, from New York should have taken about six hours; as a matter of fact, it took seven, and yet to Hilliard, who hadn’t once left the observation platform, it was accomplished with the speed of a projectile. The dramatic value of his purpose had seized him, and partly on this account, and partly because he was going home, he was temporarily relieved of perceptive judgment, whether of time, space, or attendant circumstances, "Now, whatever else you do, son," Harmon had adjured him, “stick to the story! First, last, and always—you stick to the story I It's your own business, in a way; and* in another way, it’s my business; but you keep your head clear and don’tlet anybody shake you on the facts, and we’re both alt right. Of course, you’re starting put by lying—but it’s a good lie. You’re justified. As far’s the rest of the world’s concerned, you’re a new man. You’re just born. Well, you’ve got a perfect right to be whatever you want to be. Nobody can prove you aren’t what you say you are. Just remember these three things: One, capitalise your experience, and fill 'em fun of war-talk—they’ll love It; two, capitalize your position, and stick to your story—they’ll swallow it whole, and never dream of the answer; three, capitalize your face, and smile, man, smile!" Here, he had planted his hand between Hilliard's shoulderblades with a thumn which was meant

to be fraternal and heartening. "And we’ll both make good untH the cow* come home —and I think .1 hear ’em coming. Don’t forget—they can’t atop you! If a your shot at Mfe, and you’ve got the cards stacked the way you want ’em." -— “The only thing,” Hilliard had said, "is the . . . the story l” **D n it, Hilliard, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you justified?” “Y-e-e-s, but *o much of it sound* unnecessary to me—every now and then. I wish we could have thought up something else, that’s all.” "Well, did wer “No, bub—” - “Then don’t be a rank quitter! It was your own idea; and I say if s darned clever; stand up to It You Wilf, won’t you?” > > “Oh, I’ll do that Mr. Harmon. Tve got to.” “Yes, you’ve got to. And just keep smiling, son; thafa all. That’s what I hired you so off smiling, and the battle’s half won already. . . ._ Thafu it! Keep your nerve, son! . . . Good-by!” And here he had staggered Hilliard by another friendly buffet between the shoulder blades, and swung him cordially into the runway, and disappeared. On the observation platform, Hilliard had ensconced himself behind a newspaper and a cigar, and tried to hold his emotions and his imagination in check. His purpose, now that It was crystallized, brought him no aftermath

of shame for what he was about to do —he was conscience-stricken., only in respect to what he had done already, long ago; and his nervousness was due merely to his fear that he might fall In his phtpose. After all, what was there to discourage him? He had worked out a system of campaign as clear, as definite, and as inexorable as any fieldmarshal could ever hope to devise—and perfect He was simply bringing home one vital principle of trench fighting—to rely on Indirect fire. That was it—to fight! To fight for reputation lost, and to defend his new advantage gained. The end would amply justify the means; or if the end by any chance proved to be disastrous, why, there was another principle he must remember—no quarter given or asked for. "I’ll teach ’em,” he said unsmilingly to the blurred landscape. *TII show ’em whether I can make good or not I Time! Time! That’s all I wanttime!” At the depot, among the private cars and taxicabs, a motor -omnibus bore on its side the name of the newest hotel, which was his Immediate objective; but for reasons which he couldn’t have explained, he avoided it, and signaled to a taxi. As the car came to a standstill at the motor entrance to the hotel, he managed by great exercise of will-power to maintain his mood of arrogant conquest and it was imperative for him to maintain it,' inasmuch as his first ordeal was so soon to come. More than that, he had an ancient grudge against this hostelry, for it hgd successively declined to continue his credit, refused to honor his checks, and, toward the last, had politely suggested that he refresh himself somewhere else. One of his most galling memories was connected with this very entrance; his cheeks grew hot as. he fought the vision down. “Now!” said Hilliard, on the outer threshold. # J

— A stranger in his home town.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

“But Why oh Earth Didn’t You Have Them Use Your Own Picture?"

"That’s All I Want—Time!"