Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 July 1920 — THE MAN WHO WASN'T HIMSELF [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAN W HO WASN'T HIMSELF

By ROBERT AMES BENNET

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I.—Alighting irom a train at Denver a well-dressed traveler 13 familiarly accosted by a man about bls own age.« The traveler ignores the advance. A few minutes later he is greeted as •‘Will" by an elderly lady and gentleman, Who stop their auto to speak. He imagines It a case of mistaken Identity and announces himself as "Richard Clinton," on his way to the coast. The couple apften greatly surprised, and learning he s to be in town until midnight, the lady, introducing herself as Mrs. Kirkland, and tier husband as Doctor Kirkland, Invites him to dinner, explaining the action by his truly remarkable resemblance to a friend of theirs. He accepts. At the Kirkland home he meets a young lady who greets him as her fiance. She is Ellen Kirkland, and plainly is greatly hurt by his assertion that he is "Richard Clmton.” CHAPTER ll.—At dinner "Clinton” learns that his host Is a medical specialist and that he is believed to be Will Lowrie, a young man who had been suffering from a nervous breakdown and had gone east for medical treatment. Lowrie had had in his possession bonds of the Value of >IOO,OOO, belonging to the bank Where he was employed, which have disappeared and of which he has no recollection. With Dr. Kirkland "Clinton” goes to the Lowrie home, the doctor beig satisfied that Amy Lowrie, Will's sister, will convince "Clinton” he Is really Lowrie, suffering from loss of memory. CHAPTER lll.—Amy declares at once he is her brother, and Insists on treating him as such, to his great embarrassment. CHAPTER IV.—Doctor Kirkland arranges to send a telegram to the sanitarium where Lowrie Is undergoing treatment, inquiring as to his whereabouts. CHAPTER V. Early Birds. At sunrise Clinton was wakened by the dazzling rays that streamed in at tils open window. 1 He hastened to where he had left his clothes. They were arranged in • differeht manner from that In which he left them —they had an odd 100k — the suit was not his own. Though not finlike in color, the pattern and tex‘ture were dissimilar. On the dresser lay all the articles that had been In his suit except the handkerchiefs. Fresh linen and underwbar were laid out in the place of what he had worn. His shoes set where he had left them, but they had been carefully polished. It was easy to divine that while he slept someone had come into the room through the rear door or the passage that led to the bathroom. Accustomed to hotels, he glanced along the walls in search of a bell push button. On the side near the rear was a round contrivance. He went ov?r and recognized it as the mouthpiece of an old-fashioned speaking tube. He stooped to it and called Irritably: “Hello, hello. Is this the kitchen? Hello —’’ “Yes, yes, I’m here, Mr. Will,” came back the voice of old Tillie. “My! but it does sound natural to hear you ginning me up—” “It’s my clothes,” broke in Clinton. *1 want my sultJ’ “Sult?” was the astonished reply. *Why, I laid out the very best everyday one you left.” “No, no. I mean my own suit; the ene I wore last evening.” “That? But you can’t have it until I get the pants pressed and the coat cleaned. There’s a grease spot ’most as big as—” Clinton slammed down the cover of the mouthpiece and returned to glower at the changeling suit. But he did not long remain inactive. Up through the open window floated a clear, sweet hail • “O-ho-o! O-ho-o, lazybones! Aren’t yo.u coming down?” He leaped into the fresh costume and dashed to the bathroom without stopping to examine the fit of the garments. That he was able to get into them at all was sufficient to satisfy him for the time being. With hair half brushed he hurried out into the hall, fastening his tie. “You are?” she Incredulously questioned. “Weil, if you mean it—” “How could I help it when you called me?” he asked. "But I know how much you like to lie abed. If it wasn’t for these dirty told gloves I’d give you a big hug for It” f He looked quickly aside and replied In a tone of brotherly banter: “Like the Mikado, you make the punishment fit the crime.” “Meanie 1” she pouted. “You wouldn’t say that if Ellen offered to hug you.” b “How do you know? Anyway, I mean precisely—” He stopped short and pointed at the spots on her big apron where she had knelt in the damp soil. “You’ve been working hard.” “The early bird has been catching k the worm. . • • Those nasty cut- [ worms!” she complained. “I catch K them and give them to Teddy Jones F for his fishing. Poor things I It’s too ' bad they have to be such a nuisance. Come and see the roses.” To avoid bruising the flowers that drooped or thrust out over path oq either side he had to walk behind her. vShe danced ahead of him, rap- . turously calling his attention to her especial favorites among the blossoms. He agreed- with all her praises, evidently willing to accept her judgment.

since he never shifted his gaze’ away from her dainty head and graceful, girlish form. She had on a crisp gingham dress, and her abundant hair hung down her straight little back in a thick braid. There was excuse for even a brother to consider her adorable, particularly a brother who could not realize that she was his sister. She glanced about and caught' his rapt expression. “Oh, Will, what is it?” she asked. “You look so—so — as if you’ve been moonstruck!" “I am trying to compose a poem,” he said. “How is this? "The Princess of Posies, Amidst her bright roses, Alas! me supposes Her brother to be!” “No wonder you look daft, if that is the way you-feel,” she remarked. “Maybe so much beauty on an empty stomach has upset you.” “It is not the lack of breakfast,” he asserted. “Well, then — Oh! there’s Ellen coming out of the pergola.” Me colored and looked, toward Ellen,

who was eagerly approaching. As he caught her gaze his flush deepened. “We’re waiting for you, dear,” said Amy. “Really?” breathlessly murmured Ellen. Amy tugged at Clinton’s arm. “Don’t be a dummy. Speak to her.” He bowed hastily to the other girl In a futile attempt to avoid her tender gaze. “Pardon me, Miss Kirkland. I—” “ ‘Miss Kirkland!’ —the idea 1” —admonished Amy, and she sang meaningly : “The maiden’s standing by, sir; ’Tis yours to do or die, sir.” “Amy I” murmured the stately Miss Kirkland, her cheeks scarlet with blissful shame. “M’lord, your fiancee waits,” announced the little tease. Clinton drew back, stiff with embarrassment. “Miss —Lowrie,” he replied, “you and Miss Kirkland alike forget that I am not—” “Please, please, Will!” broke in Ellen. “Do not say that—do not!” “He only means not himself,” suggested Amy. She smiled at the young man hopefully. “Perhaps you might remember, if you made believe. Don’t mind me. I’ll turn my back.” The young man gave over the unequal contest. “Have it your own way, if you must; only please remember and spare me when Doctor Kirkland receives the answering telegram with regard to Mr. Lowrie.” “When you know and must believe thaFyou are you?’ sighed Ellen. “But we won’t starve you while you wait,” added Amy. “Come in to breakfast. bacon!” Breakfast at Amy Lowrie’s usual hour was far too early for Mrs. Kirkland. Clinton remained at the mercy of the young ladles. But he was quite submissive. He drank his cup of nearcoffee without protest, and even went so far as totask the dainty server for a second cup. In return the girls limited their demonstrations of affection to tender glances. After the meal he at once excused himself on the plea of letter writing and withdrew to his room* He did not come out until mldmornlng, when, as had been agreed, Doctor Kirkland called to take him down to the bank. “Good morning, sir,” he returned the physician’s cordial greeting. “Moy I ask if you have telegraphed for news of Mr. Lowrie?” “The message was sent last night,"

“Then you will probably receive the reply this morning?” “Not nearly so soon—no. We shall hear not later than this evening, however.” Clinton looked gravely at Amy. “In that event please do not expect me for lunch. I shall wait until the telegram comes and you know I am not your brother. After that, If I may have the privilege—” “What If the telegram is delayed until tomorrow?" she objected. “You promised to stay. You must come home for dinner at least, else we shall be frightened." "Very well.” He bowed, and before Ellen or her mother could speak he was out of the room. A drive of a few minutes brought the car down to that solid and conservative bank, the Fourth National of Denver. As Clinton followed Doctor Kirkland in through the screen door an outhurrying business man paused to clrtp him on the shoulder and tell hin. no nad come home looking fine and fit. Clinton nodded and passed on into the bank. The big hawk-eyed guard, who was wandering about through the crowd, glanced at him and bowed. Again he nodded. On all sides men were recognizing him by smiles and nods. Some would have detained him with words of welcome and inquiries as to his long holiday. Doctor Kirkland saved him from the embarrassment of coherent answers by leading him briskly across to the desk of the cashier. Bemm, as fastidiously dressed as ever, was sitting within the Inclosure. At sight of Clinton he sprang to open the gate, with a cordial: “Ah, here you are! Come right In. You, too, Doctoi 1 Kirkland.” “Must go back to my office,” replied the physician. “Can stop only to Indorse Mr. Clinton’s draft If that is necessary.” “Not at all,” said Bemm. “I’ve explained Mr. Clinton’s odd resemblance to Mr. Lowrie. The draft will be cashed all right.” Clinton drew out his draft and indorsed it under the sharp gaze of the cashier without the slightest trade of hesitancy. The cashier glanced at the ticket, handed it back to him, and turned to another customer. “The money will be sent In to you,” he said in a brusque tone. “His busy day, y’know,” drawled Bemm, signaling Clinton to cojne with him through the door behind the rail. “Cashier runs the bargain counter of a bank. Quite a bore, I take It. Give me the vice presidency. Stately leisure—all that, y’know.” Clinton stopped short, his fingers thrust Into the fold of his wallet. “It must have dropped out,” he muttered. “What’s that?” Inquired Bemm. “The check for the suitcase. I must have dropped It.” “You did —last evening,” replied Bemm. “No doubt it fell out with your baggage checks. I must have been still a bit confused from that knockout blow when I picked them up. This morning I found the brass check in my pocket.” ‘JYes,” said Clinton, holding out his hjind. Bemm smiled suavely. “You’ll pardon the liberty, I’m sure. I happened to be down at the depot, and thought you might like to have your suitcase up at the house.” “Thanks. Doctor Kirkland will hear today with regard to Mr. Lowrie, so I may be leaving tonight. But it was thoughtful of you.” “You think of leaving tonight?” protested Bemm. “The moment my identity is established I fancy neither Miss Kirkland nor Miss Lowrie will urge me to stay.” “I’d be glad to put you up in my diggings until you’ve got in touch with people here,” offered Bemm. Clinton met the cordial invitation with a frank smile and an equally frank refusal. “That’s good of you. But with the town determined to believe I’m Mr. Lowrie, and the young ladles annoyed at finding I’m not, it will be a bit too uncomfortable.” “Ah, yes,” murmured Bemm, and he knocked softly at a door. “Here is the office of the vice president.” A bland, elderly gentleman opened the door. Bemm introduced Clinton to him, and declined the vice presidents invitation to enter, with Ahe gxcuse that he wished to chat with one of the assistant cashiers. Clinton sat down with the vice president, who remarked casually on his strong resemblance to Will Lowrie, and started a jvltty conversation. Bemm, meantime, had gone through the inclosure of the first assistant cashier into the office of the bank' president, a small, cold-eyed, correct banker. Bemm slipped into' a cbqlr at the financier’s elbow and murmured concisely: “No trace of the key in the suitcase, sir. I saw his baggage checks ancl'notetT the numbers. His trunks went on to the coast. Wlrgd ’Frisco for them to be watched and held, if necessary. The probability is that he has the key on his person. He has changed suits to one he wore last summer, to which, no doubt, he has shifted the key.” —— ■ “Get it,” said the president “At the first opportunity, sir. I do not think it best to show our hand until we have our proofs—or he attempts to leave town.” A cipher telegram was handed in to the president. He Unlocked his secret code book, translated the telegram, and/stated laconically “Richard Clinton, forty thousand. First National, Chicago. Main deposits: draft on-First National, Boston, for twenty-five thousand, in May, and check of International Security Bonds company for fifteen thousand, five days ago.” Bemm smiled exultantly. “That

clinches it. He took some or all of the bonds out of the safe deposit box when he went eust; sold soAe, and deposited the proceeds in the Boston bank. To cover up he tran - .’erred his account- to the Chicago bam., In May, under the name' of Clinton. On his way home he sold more of the bonds — fifteen thousand dollars’ worth—to this Security Bonds company. I must confess that I have had my doubts whether he was not right in his claim of mistaken identity—” “All that is immaterial,. Benupi”

curtly stated the president. “The next step is to locate the unsold bonds.” “Yes, sir. That is what I had in mind. I’ll lunch at the club. In vino veritas, y’know.” • The president made a slight gesture of assent and dismissal. Bemm rose and bowed himself out as if he had been making a social call. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“If It Wasn't for These Dirty Old Gloves—"

“He Has Changed Suits.”