Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1920 — Page 7

SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 1920

THE MAN WHO WASN'T HIMSELF

By ROBERT AMES BENNET

CHAPTER I. .Will o’ the Wisp. As he sauntered from the train in the rear of the hurrying crowd.of his fellow passengers there was nothing peculiar in his appearance. His clothes were in good taste, his manner quiet and well-bred, his look intelligent, pleasant and indifferent. On the whole he gave every indication of being a manly and attractive young gentleman. He walked with the resilient step of an athlete in training —and In his mid-twenties. The gatekeeper told him where he could check his suitcase. He started across the arcade to enter the depot. From outside the iron fence an elegantly dressed young fellow beside the nearest train waved a hand to him and called familiarly: “Hello, old man 1 Didn’t know you were returning—what the deuce!” ' The traveler, after a moment’s quizzical scrutiny, had started on Into the depot without betraying t6e slightest sign of recognition. The young elegant who had called to him flushed and bit his lip. As quickly his shallow graybrown eyes hardened and he recovered his nonchalant poise. With a swiftness that was masked by the utter lack of hurry in his manner he slipped through the gate and across the arcade into the depot. The sight of the man he had addressed brought him to an abrupt halt. He turned aside behind a pillar and paused to light a cigarette. The traveler was at the checking counter depositing his suitcase; Having received his check he turned away with the bearing of one who is in a strange place with no particular desire to do anything. Before he had taken half a dozen steps he was rushed by a middle-aged man who might have passed for a promoter or a clubman of rather pronounced tastes. “Why, howdy, Mr. Lowrie 1 Back in Denver again, I see, and looking fit as a fiddle. Glad your stay east has done you so much good.” “You are slightly mistaken,” replied the traveler, ignoring the other’s outstretched hand. “I do not happen to be a comer-on, and I care neither for a little game nor a gold brick, thank you.” He went out through the main exit of the old depot, leaving the man who had accosted him agape and blankly disconcerted. The traveler tensed with the upwelling of his energy. He noted the line of taxicabs drawn up outside the depot grounds, and started forward, brisk and purposeful. At the same time a small touring car that had been standing beside the curb before the ladies’ waiting room curved around and rolled smoothly out across the block pavement toward the Welcome arch. Car and pedestrian reached the crossing at the same time. The driver, a portly, gray-haired gerftleman, tooted a warning and swerved over on the crossing. Checked by the sound of the horn the traveler came to an abrupt halt and stood poised, waiting for the automobile to glide past. The elderly driver was too Intent on steering the machine to give further heed to him. But the matronly lady in the rear seat looked In his direction and met his gaze full and direct. Instantly she flung out her hand and leaned toward him, her face aglow with surprise delight “Will I” she cried. “Stop, Karl, stop! Don’t you see Will?” * The car came to a stand within its own length, and the dignified driver twisted about to peer at the traveler. As he met the young man’s look of well-bred annoyance his joyful astonishment became clouded with doubt. But the doubt vanished arid left him beaming with cocksure delight. “It is Will!” he exclaimed. “Most unexpected ! Such a—a —” “My dear Will! My dear boy 1” broke in the lady. “To think that you—■” For the first time the traveler rallied from the half daze into which he had been thrown by this sudden attack. “I beg your pardon, madam,” he Interrupted the lady. “You have rather the advantage of me. Evidently you mistake me for some friend who has been away.”’ He smiled as if in sympathetic amusement, but the others at once became grave. The lady gazed at him in shocked surprise. The gentleman replied to him with dignified irritation: “This is no occasion for practical jokes, Will. Very unlike you 1 Merely because you have grown a mustache is no reason why you should —” “One moment, sir,” broke in the young man, and he drew- out his card case. “My_name is Clinton-K-Richard Clinton. lam a stranger in Denver —" “It won’t do, won’t do, Will!” irritably rejoined the older man. “You’ve changed a great deal —wonderful improvement But of course it’s all ow-

Ing to your complete recovery. Never saw’ you look so robust. There’s a resonance in your voice— It’s no use affecting the Boston accent. You can’t disguise your voice.” “Sir, it is you who insist upon a practical joke because of a fancied resemblance,” declared the young man, his blue eyes glinting with annoyance. “Fancied!” exclaimed the lady. "I beg your pardon, madam,” he replied, and he presented his card to her. “As you see, my name Is Richard Clinton. lam on my way through to the Coast and am stopping over in Denver only for the change of cars.” “Ah, yes, to be sure,” she murmured, her eyes on his card. “So stupid of us. Pray pardon me a moment.” She turned her shoulder to him and leaned forward to hand the card to her portly companion. “Oh! what can it be, Karl?” she whispered. “See! —to have had cards engraved! He really seems to be serious, and it’s so unlike him to joke. Can it be possible that his loss of memory—that it has failed entirely?” The bushy eyebrow’s of the gentleman came down over his keen eyes, and his face clouded with concern. Possible! Possible!” he muttered. “Amnesia — dissociation — secondary personality! My dear, it’s not only possible; it’s highly probable! And I thought he was joking, poor boy!” “Hush! Leave it to me. We must detain him. He cannot be allowed to leave town.” “No, no I—while in this state —impossible !” The lady turned to the young man with an air of gracious apology. “Mr. — Clinton, you hear my husband. We cannot allow you to leave the state without first having made amenas to you for this —this annoying mistake.” “Pardon me, rather, for my rudeness,” he hastened to reply. “It must have seemed to you so impertinent,” she insisted. “Only, you see, our friend —Will Lowrie, you know —” She paused expectantly, but his clear gaze betrayed no more than polite attention. She flung up her hand In a little gesture of bewilderment. “You are Will—and yet your expression— Pardon me, but if only you realized what an extraordinary resemblance 1 ... As I was going to say, Mr. Lowrie has been away more than half a year. He was quite ill .when my husband took him east This —it Is as If he had come back to us strong and well.” “A perfectly natural mistake,” the young man good-humoredly reassured her. “Two persons between whom there is only a moderately close resemblance are often mistaken for one another when apart, though their differences, once they are together, may be very noticeable.” “But you and Will —!” she replied. *®ven after your explanation I have to refuse to believe my own eyes. I have no doubt that my husband, as well as myself— Pardon me. I am Mrs. Kirkland, and this Is my husband. Mr. Clinton—Doctor Kirkland.” The young man met the Introduction with a manner nicely balanced between well-bred reserve and cordial warmth. He bowed to the lady and stepped forward alongside the car to grasp the chubby hand of the physician. “It Is a happy case of mistaken identity that gives me the pleasure of your acquaintance,” he remarked. “Very I” agreed the physician, masking his diagnosing scrutiny under a benevolent smile. “The pleasure is not all yours, Mr. —Clinton.” “Indeed, no, Mr. Clinton!” vivaciously confirmed the lady. “Even if it were for no more than your resemblance to Will — It’s simply absurd how like you are. I have to keep reminding myself that you are not he. It makes me feel quite as if an old friend. How long did you say you expect to remain in town?” “My train leaves shortly before midnight.” “Not tonight?” “Yes.” “But that never will do! You say you are a stranger in Denver. You must stop over a few days at least to see our beautiful city. You are not hurried by business?” He hesitated. “Denver has the name of being a cold town to strangers.” “That is a baseless calumny, as we shall prove to you,” she declared with redoubled graciousness. “Since we have become acquainted In this delightfully unconventional manner you must pardon the unconventlonallty of an invitation to dine with us on such short notice.” r “It is most kind of you,” he acknowledged. “But my trunk —” “No, no; just as you are—quite informal,” she forestalled his objection. He could not resist her Cordiality. “Since you are so kind 1” “Tump in,” directed the physician with an urgency almost peremptory

THE TWICE-A-WEEK DEMOCRAT

Smiling in response to the general cordiality, the traveler opened the door of the car and took the seat beside the lady. Doctor Kirkland was too careful a driver to have any glances to spare for his passengers after he had guided his car up through the business streets of the city to one of the most quiet of the Capitol hill avenues. They went on a few blocks south and then more swiftly eastward. At last the physician brought his car to a stop at the curb before a residence set In a plot of emerald green that merged with the lawn of Congress park. “Here we are—home!” said Mrs. Kirkland, In a sprightly attempt to win some Indication of remembrance from the young man at her side. “No doubt Ellen will be awaiting us.” Her companion’s look spoke only of polite Inquiry. The* mention of home and of Ellen had alike failed to stir him. She concealed her disappointment with difficulty. “I referred to my daughter,” she explained. “Ellen went on a motor ride to the foothills with Amy—Miss Lowrie, you know’ —and some of their girl friends.” Again she looked closely into the face of her companion. But the name of Amy Lowrie brought no flash of memory Into his frank blue eyes. He stepped dowm to hand his hostess from the car. A neat little maid came darting from the front porch of the house down across the sloping lawn to the parked sidewalk. “Doctor,” she called, “here’s a phone message. Urgent case at the sanitarium.” The physician took the note and read It In a glance. “H’m —quite true. That new psychopath. Must go.” He nodded to his wife as he stepped back into the car. “Excuse me to Mr. Clinton, my dear. I shall return In time for dinner.” Mrs. Kirkland smiled at her guest as the car glided away. “The time of a specialist is little more his own than that of an old-fashioned family doctor,” she said. “My husband is an alienist.” She turned to the housemaid. “Is Miss Ellen at home?” “Yes, ma’am. She came back half an hour ago.” “Tell cook Mr. Clinton is to dine with us.” The little maid flitted up the lawn and into the house. Mrs. Kirkland and the guest sauntered after her. The west fronting of the porch afforded an across-town view of the snowy range, now haloed with a magnificent sunset The traveler paused In the porch, midway between the steps and the door. “What a view!” he exclaimed. “You enjoy it?” the lady was quick to catch him up. “Then, if I may ask you to excuse me for a few moments, I shall leave you out here in the porch.” * * He sprang to open the screen door for her. But the moment she had gone inside he went across to the porch wall and stood gazing at the sunset, forgetful of all else than the gold and scarlet and red that streamed up through the fleecy clouds above the Indigo mountains and white peaks Into the azure sky. Around the corner of the house strolled a tall, falr-halred girl, carrying in one hand a novel and in the other a fan. The fiery splendor of the sunset caught her gaze and held It while she passed the corner and mounted the end steps of the porch. At first sight of the unconscious traveler she straightened with an Impulse of maidenly reserve. This was instantly succeeded by amazement as her eyes rested on the man’s strong profile. She stopped, transfixed, gazing at the traveler as if dazed. She had the look of one unable to believe some great good fortune. The traveler was so absorbed in his enjoyment of the view that he failed to heed the girl’s light tread on the cement floor of the porch. She was almost within arm’s length of him

"Clinton Is My Name—Richard Clinton.’’

when her joyful eagerness forced from her half-parted lips a breathless little cry: “Willi dear!” The young man faced about with a start, arid stared at the girl in blank surprise. He saw a beautiful, blushing face, a pair of gray eyes aglow with love, a shapely mouth curved in a tender smile. As his hand Went automatically to his cap she half raised bar

arms as If she expected him to embrace her. “Dear Will!” she repeated. He hurriedly gave back a step. “I— I beg your pardon. Clinton Is my name —Richard Clinton." “O-a-ah!” she exclaimed, shrinking back in turn, perplexed and alarmed at his strange behavior. “What —how— the way you look at me I Can It be possible that your loss of memory—” She clasped her hands to her bosom. “But It can’t be! It can’t! You never could forget me, never! Say it! Say you haven’t — haven’t forgotten me, Will!" “But I—don’t understand. It’s some mistake. A case of—" “It Is, of course It is!” she broke in. “You admit it. Your poor dear head was at first confused. But now —now you remember me!” “I am very sorry to disappoint you,” he replied. “But I cannot permit you to deceive yourself. I do not remember you. I can only conjecture that you may be Miss Kirkland.” “Then you do remember, you do 1” slip cried. She had come close to him,'her eyes bright with hope. They were In a secluded corner of the porch. There were no houses across the street and no one was passing. She reached up her hands and clasped them on his shoulders while her eyes gazed up into his, full of loving expectancy. His face, already embarrassed, flushed crimson. He drew her quivering hands down from his shoulders with gentle force and stepped away. “Miss Kirkland !” he begged. “Calm yourself. This—it is most unfortunate. Had you first seen your mother ►—had she explained to you—prepared you.” “Explained? Prepared?" “But I must insist, Miss Kirkland, that I —" He glanced past her and smiled with relief. “Here is your mother." The girl darted along the porch to clasp her mother’s arm. “Mamma!" she appealed. “What is It? Tell me! Will insists he Is not—not himself. It—it frightens me 1” “My dear,” soothed Mrs. Kirkland, “there is no reason, none whatever. Had you been in your room —” She smiled at the guest. “You will understand, Mr. Clinton, the resemblance being so absurdly close. The child Is excited —not quite herself. So great a shock. If you will kindly excuse us a few minutes.” “I am very sorry," he said. “Perhaps it would be better If I should go." “Ohl no, no! Do not go!" hysterically cried the girl. “Hush, dear,” reproved her mother. “Mr. Clinton is not going. He is to stay and dine with us.” “If you really wish It,” he assented. “Then you’ll not go?” exclaimed the girl. “Of course not, Ellen," said her mother. “Coine in with me.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

TO FRIENDS OF THE DEMOCRAT

Instruct your attorneys to bring all legal notices in which you are Interested and will have the paying to do, to The Democrat, and thereby save money and do us a favor that will be duly appreciated. All notices of appointment —of administrator, executor or guardian; survey, sale of real estate, ditch or road petitions, notices to non-resi-dence, etc., the clients themselves control, and your attorneys will take them to the paper you desire, for publication, if you so direct them; while, if you fall to do so, they will give them where it suits their pleasure most and where you may least expect or desire it. So, please bear this in mind when you have any of these notices to have published.

“The man who whispers down a well About the goods he has to sell, Won’t reap the golden, gleaming dollars — Like one who climbs a tree and hollers.” — Well, I am hollerin’. I have a carload of Buggies to sell. —C. A. ROBERTS. . «

OSBORNE’S GREENHOUSE 502 Merritt Street For Cut Flowers, Potted Plants and all kinds of Floral Designs. TELEPHONE 439

mu du DBALKK » ■VVVYWW Ik urn M ini Miu HIKEUH, 111.

A PHILIPPINE TRAVELOGUE

The Zigzag on the Way to Baguio Summer Capital of the Philippines.

All aboard I Let's go I We’re starting from Manila, the great picturesque, Americanized Oriental city, and will travel by automobile 200 miles to the north to Baguio, the summer capital of the Philippines. The trip can also be made by train. We have ahead of us one of the most scenic, spectacular and thrilling automobile trips in the world. We will have excellent roads all the way. The Philippines are, in fact, a paradise for autolsts, possessing 3,500 miles of fine macadamized roads. The first part of the trip Is through typical small towns and then across the central plain of Luzon and through several rich and fertile provinces, where tropical vegetation is seen at its best. Here one Is impressed with the great agricultural wealth of the Philippines, which represents one of the East’s greatest producing areas, with the advantage of immense natural resources for the development of further production. It is regrettably true that even in the United States there is far from any real understanding of the potentialities of the Islands. At some points rice fields, looking in the distance like the greenest of green lawns, stretch away as far as the eye can see. If you want color, if you want to feel the romance and mystery of an Oriental twilight, pass this way as the red eyed sun at the end of the dying day is slowly sinking behind the unending expanse of green fields. At first you cry out In ecstacy at the gorgeous scene. But as you ride along, your eyes fastened on the panorama of tints and colors, and with the Impenetrably black Oriental night coming on fast, you become enthralled. You no longer try to express your feelings. You cannot. You realize that those now fast changing, colorful masterpieces in the heavens and on the landscape are pictures that no man can adequately describe nor human hands duplicate. So what’s the use of trying ! True, these are but Impressions, but the traveloguer considers himself justified in mentioning them, for they are a part of the trip to Baguio and return. Indeed, the gorgeous sunsets in all parts of the Philippines leave an Impression on the mind of the tourist that is everlasting. We leave the palms and tropical foliage and enter the zone of rugged pine. We pass from the soft, incense laden air of the warm lowlands to the crisp, invigorating ozone of the temperate zone, all within a few hours’ time. For mile after mile the road now follows the tortuous course of a river, the rbad lying In the bottom or on the rocky sides of a granite canyon. The Philippines are rich in hydroelectric possibilities. This power is the. cheapest power on earth. And it is everlasting. Your traveloguer is neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he predicts that one day there will be innumerable Philippine government owned hydro-electric plants in this canyon we are now passing through. Think of the possibilities of such a project 1 Today the trip from Manila to Baguio Is too expensive for the average Manila worker and his family, many of whom may live and die without beholding the wondrous beauties of their own Island of Luzon. Think of what a blessing It would be to Filipino mothers and children to feel upon their fevered brows the cool, invigorating breezes of the mountain tops, now so near and yet so far 1 With the Philippine governiyent owning its own electric railways and hydro-elec-tric plants it would be possible to bring

THE ROMANTIC ISLANDS OF THE FAR EAST. PICTURES OF THEIR NATURAL BEAUTY AND HISTORIC SPOTS—BECOMING A MECCA FOR TOURISTS AND A POPULAR WINTER RESORT. .

the trip to Baguio within the means of hundreds of thousands of Filipinos. Not only Is there sufficient power in this river to electrify a line from Manila to Baguio, but to operate the street railways of Manila, light the city and furnish power for manufacturing concerns. But we have now arrived at Camp One.' From this point the scenery rapidly changes as the elevation Increases. We are traveling over the famous Benguet road, the construction of which through the mountains is a most remarkable engineering triumph. At places the road is blasted out of the solid granite. Riding on the edge of a 100 foot precipice makes one feel like

"At times we seemed perilously near the Jumping off place."

he Is on the rim of the world. Some of the turns are so sharp It Is Impossible to see 20 feet ahead, and we seem to be perilously near the jumping off place. We wonder If It Is safe to lean out and peer Into the canyon far below, and when we do we are perfectly satisfied we are flirting with death. Tot the trip is a safe one, providing our driver has better nerves than our own. All too soon we reach the outskirts of Baguio, a city among the clouds, and are rather surprised at the modem city we find it to be. In ten years Baguio has grown from a village of huts to the now justly famed mountain resort of the Philippines, sometimes called the Philippine Simla. It Is undoubtedly destined some day to a large city. — ■- Baguio ranges in elevation from 4,500 io 5,500 feet and is surrounded practically on all sides by high mountain ridges and “hogsbacks” towering into the skies at d height of almost 8,000 feet. Aside from the scenery, which Is noteworthy, the great blessing of Baguio is its temperate climate, which Is Indeed a godsend to those Impoverished by the tropical temperatures of the lowlands. Not only Is the mountain air rich In ozone, but it has been demonstrated to be extraordinarily free from germs of all kinds. Each year during the hot season ths school teachers of the entire archipelago are enabled by the government to spend a month at the teachers’ camp in Baguio for recreation and conference on school work. American army officers and their families also go to Baguio for the hot months. And now that your traveloguer has you in Baguio, he believes he will leave you there, for there are many Interesting aide trips to take, and, besides, Baguio la the most delightful place for a vacation in the entire Orient.

PAGE SEVEN

C. H. T.