People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 February 1893 — ALITTLE COMEDY OF ERRORS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LITTLE COMEDY OF ERRORS

By S. S. MORTON.

[Copyrighted, 1891, by S. S. Morton, and published by special arrangement] CHAPTER I.—CONTINUED. He started to his feet with a sudden flash of recklessness in his eyes, and paced the floor for a few moments while he mentally debated this point; then the question was settled. “On the whole,” he said, aloud, “I will go. Why not? It will be merely carrying out the programme that I have already determined upon. I have commenced to drift; I might as well continue the exciting experiment. It is possible, indeed most probable, that Mrs. Maynard will at once discover that I am not the particular Mr. North to whom her note was addressed; but in that case I can make some sort of apology; ‘note fell into my hands by mistake; carelessness of the clerk; same name; very amusing coincidence,’ and so on, and thus bow myself gracefully out of the affair. But if, on the other hand, she should share the popular misapprehension as to my identity, why then I’ll —be guided by circumstances!” He paused now before his valise, which the porter had deposited on a chair, and, opening it, commenced unpacking and tossing its contents carelessly on the bed. Among other items a rather formidable-looking memorandum book, bound in Russia leather, came to light. As his eye fell upon it, a sudden inspiration seemed to seize him. “Something is certain to come of this ridiculous affair,” he said to himself, taking up the note book, and also pen and ink which he had in convenient portable shape, “so I will just make a of what has already occurred. It may be the significant beginning of important and interesting events.” With this reflection he established himself at the writing table and commenced to record in the pages of his note book the thrilling experiences he had just passed through. Allan North had a phenomenally treacherous memory, which, instead of strengthening it by a wise recourse to one or all of the popular memory systerms now in vogue, he had unconsciously weakened still further by an habitual subserviency to note-book and pencil. Possessing a certain sense of humor, a fluent style of expression, and the leisure that enabled him to exercise his literary talents, he frequently elaborated his daily notes beyond the mere jotting down of facts which it was im-

portant for him to remember. If you, dear reader, could have deciphered the hastily scrawled pages preceding the entry upon which he was now engaged, you would have found them to read thus: “Monday.—Was in court this morning for the first time since the Dunkirk will case was called. Found things in statu quo. Hopkins and Shepherd both out of town. Possibly after that missing witness who still continues non est inventus. Suspect she’s a myth. Hunter and Ketchum both jubilant. Say they are sure of winning. Hope they will; credit of the office at stake. Thus far no trace of that missing niece. Query: Is she a myth, too? ? “Tuesday.—Startling developments in the Dunkirk case to-day. Will proven to be a forgery. Hopkins and Shepherd evidently had no hand in it. They were both considerably taken aback when this fact was established by the experts, and they telegraphed at once to the claimant’s confidential legal adviser—odd that I never happened to hear him spoken of by name—to find

out what it all means. In my opinion they would better send a detective after him. I'll stake my last cigar (the one I smoked last, I mean) that the fair claimant and her confidential legal adviser—who, by the way, has wisely kept at a safe distance from New York during this investigation—will prove to be the persons who forged that document. Hunter and Ketchum are still advertising for information concerning Annie Dupont, the niece and sole heir at law. No result thus far. Meanwhile, there is a fine little case of forgery to be investigated. Already the inside theories are being woven, and, if I mistake not, there will be some interesting developments in the case before many days. “Wednesday. Here’s a state of things! Hunter and Ketchum have to-day received a communication from a man calling himself Dennis O’Reilly (doesn’t that savor of the Emerald isle?) living in X , a city of considerable importance in the wild west, who—the Irishman, I mean—claims to be in possession of facts that will lead to the discovery and identification of Annie Dupont. For my part I have no faith in the story; but H. and K. think the matter is worth investigating, and they have proposed that I go at once to X— find this man and follow up his clew if it should prove to be worth anything. The prospect is rather enlivening, and, as it happens, my professional engagements are not so numerous or exacting just now as to interfere with my absenting myself from the office. Prosecuted a case of assault and battery yesterday, and sent defendant to jail. Don’t know whether he was guilty or not. Suspect not; but I proved that he was, and that was the end of it. And now, inflamed by that grand success, my voice is still for war! Wish I could get hold of something sensational, something really worthy of my attention. Assault and battery! I blush to write the words. Are my talents to be dissipated, my nerve and brain tissues to be worn out pursuing such paltry game as that? The fates forbid! There must be some higher destiny in store for me. Perhaps this mission to X— will furnish me the sensational experiences that I long for. I think I’ll start tomorrow. My constitution demands a slight change of air and scenery, and the trip will no doubt be of great benefit to me, though whether anything of importance to business interests will result therefrom is somewhat problematical.” Immediately after this came North’s latest entry: “Friday noon.—At X—. Just got here. Quite a breezy, wide-awake little city, inhabited by a set of harmless and amusing lunatics. Their first manifestation of eccentricity was to insist that I am some other fellow, who oddly enough bears my illustrious name, follows my honorable profession, looks like me, and, as the final link in this astonishing chain of coincidences, although out of town at this present writing, boards at the very hotel at which I am stopping. Tried to convince them of their mistake. No use. Average mind not open to conviction. Finally decided to let them have their own way about it, and am therefore going to play my role in this comedy of errors as Antipholus of Syracuse, unless Antipholus of Ephesus steps in prematurely and defeats my purpose. Must hunt up Dennis O’Reilly. Forlorn hope. Don’t know where to look for him. Probably digging ditches somewhere. H. and K. must have been crazy to pay any attention to his communication. “Note Extraordinary (made five minutes after arrival after the manner of English tourists visiting the states). —People of X— are very sociably inclined. Circumstances offered in evidence: I find here on the instant of my arrival a note from one, Mrs. Maynard, evidently a lady moving in aristocratic circles, inviting me to call upon her at two o’clock this afternoon. No references required. Invitation downright and unconditional. In spite of the embarrassing fact that I have never had the honor of meeting the lady aforesaid, and have not the slightest idea where she lives, I have decided that it will not be politic to slight the very first invitation extended to me here, and I am therefore intending to call upon the said Mrs. Maynard, of No. 33 Delaplaine street, at the hour and place aforesaid. Have a vague hope that she may be able to throw some light upon the present mystery of my identity. If she decides that I am myself, the verdict of the general public will be immediately set aside. If she insists that I am the other fellow, I will humbly bow to the decision. Capital idea! Saves me all further responsibility in the matter. Interesting psychological question. Not exactly a case of Jekyll and Hyde, but rather suggests the query whether a man may not have two separate and distinct personalities without being at all aware of it until some one else discovers the fact for him. On second thought, I am not sure but the real question is, whether or not a man can be in two different places at one and the same time. Pshaw! No use in wearying my brain with these airy speculations. My first duty is to find out who I really am. With that point once clearly and indisputably settled (by Mrs. Maynard), all these minor questions will take care of themselves. I think my prospects for innocent amusement here look promising. As to business, can’t tell yet. Shall reserve judgment on that point until I have had an interview with Mr. O'Reilly.” It was at this point that North closed his book, threw down his pen and consuited his watch again. As the immediate result of this latter proceeding he started up with the audible exclamation: “One o’clock! I must be expeditious if I expect to be at Mrs. Maynard’s at the appointed hour. I shall do my best to make a good impression; all in the other fellow’s interests, of course! I suspect that I’m pretty well acquainted at No. 33; note sounds a little that way. I wonder upon what action this summons is based? Nothing whatever in the writ to indicate that, ‘Mrs. Maynard will be at home at two o'clock.

Will it be convenient for Mr. North to call at that hour?’ ” CHAPTER II. Ant. S.—There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me, As if I were their well acquainted friend; And everyone doth call me by my name. —Comedy of Errors. At half-past one o’clock Allan North reappeared on the hotel portico. The number of idlers there had diminished considerably during the past half hour; only Col. Dayton and the gentleman with the eye-glasses remaining of the original group. The latter, tipped back in a chair with his feet elevated to the top of the veranda railing, was enveloped in a cloud of fragrant cigar smoke, which he contemplated with as much complacency as if it had been a halo of glory. The colonel, seated beside him with a newspaper spread out before him, was proclaiming aloud to his rather inattentive auditor the news of the day, foreign, domestic and local. ‘‘Ha! Mr. North,” he exclaimed, coming to a full stop in his reading, “are you off again?” “For a short time, colonel,” answered North, pausing on the steps to give a final smoothing down to his gloves. The gentleman with the eye-glasses took his cigar from his teeth, cleared away the encircling smoke and turned toward North with a half sneering scrutiny. “I say,” he suddenly demanded, the idle curiosity in his expression changing to selfish interest, “are you going to the office?” North lifted his eyebrows slightly; a comment entirely for his own benefit. Perhaps he had an office, and a practice that would be likely to make some demand upon his attention. Might not that be a trifle awkward? “Well,” he said to himself, “this cannot go on forever, I shall either succeed in establishing my own identity, or be

taken in ‘charge by the commissioners’ in lunacy, before I have been many hours in X—!” Then aloud: “To the office?” he repeated, in a leisurely way, as if he were mentally debating the question. “I hadn’t thought of it. Why?” “Oh, I was merely intending to ask you, if you were going there, to take a message to Morris. No consequence. I shall probably get down there in time to catch him myself. You know he takes that trespass case into court this afternoon. I’m waiting now to see Woods, who promised to meet me here at one o’clock. He’s late, as usual—confound him! Any idea where you are going, North?” Alas, he had not! But he smiled serenely as he answered with reckless candor: “Why, yes, my dear fellow; I may as well tell you that I am due at No. 33 Delaplaine street at two o’clock.” “Indeed!” No surprise, but considerable significance in this dry rejoinder. “Do you know where that is?” pursued North with amiable sociability, thinking the while that, if so, he envied the gentleman with the eyeglasses the information.

“Where what is? No. 33 Delaplaine street?” demanded that gentleman, with a blank stare. “Good heavens, man, how long do you intend to keep up this role of idiot? Wasn’t it I that first introduced you there, I’d like to know?” “Perhaps it was,” admitted North, nonchalantly. “It might have been, for anything that I am prepared to say to the contrary,” he added mentally, as he stood for a moment pulling his mustache in a meditative way and glancing with a puzzled air up and down the street. “I say, North, have you taken to low comedy as a permanent thing?” continued the aggrieved possessor and wearer of the eye-glasses. “It’s a shock, even to me, to see you degenerating so suddenly into the character of a clown.” “I can vary it with high tragedy,” said North, accommodatingly, as he went down the steps, “if that will suit you any better, my dear fellow. Au revoir!” And with a delightful sense of uncertainty as to whither he was tending, he started slowly down the street. He had not proceeded very far when he was arrested* by the colonel’s facetious exclamation: “I say, Mr. North, are you walking in your sleep? Delaplaine street isn’t down that way, you know!” North whirled around composedly and retraced his steps. "Will you be kind enough to tell me, then, my dear colonel,” he said, “where Delaplaine street is? I give you my word that I have not the faintest idea.” And, pausing by the steps as he muttered this astonishing confession of ignorance, he looked up at the colonel witn innocent perplexity depicted in his countenance. “Mr. North, what is the matter with you?” demanded Col. Dayton, in whose round, astonished eyes North read not a little dismay and suspicion. “Nothing at all, colonel, except the difficulty that I have mentioned,” returned North, reassuringly. "The case

is as plain as a pikestaff. I wish to go to Delaplaine street, and I have not the faintest idea where Delaplaine street is. Now, is not that a coincidence that appeals to your helpful sympathies?” “Are you sure, Mr. North—quite sure, you know—” ventured the colonel, nervously apprehensive lest he might not put the case with sufficient delicacy, “that you are in a—exactly a condition, you know, to call on a lady?” North’s first impulse was to resent this imputation; then he reflected how much ground there was for the colonel’s suspicion, and amusement became uppermost in his feelings. He smiled as he answered: “Oh, yes, colonel, I am perfectly sure of that.” “Well,” said the colonel, still with the air of one who darkly suspected that he was being imposed upon, “ypu go up Main street, ten squares beyond the courthouse, and then turn into Delaplaine street at your left. And if I had a silver dollar for every time that you’ve been over that route in the last three years, I’d be a rich man!” he added, with a reproachful scowl, as he drew his brows together and looked down sharply at North. “Think you can make out, now, how to get there?” “Oh, I think I shall have no difficulty now, colonel, thank you.” And with a wave of his hand North turned away again. “Why didn’t yon let him go on in the first place?” snarled the gentleman with the eye-glasses, before North was beyond the reach of his voice. “Perhaps you had better send a small boy along to show him the road! The fellow has been either drunk or as crazy as Hamlet ever since he got back this morning. What to make of him I don’t know, I’m sure!” [to be continued. ]

H.M.

TOSSING ITS CONTENTS CARELESSLY.

PROCLAIMING ALOUD TO HIS INATTENTIVE AUDITOR.