Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 31, Number 263, 20 October 1906 — Page 7

The Richmond Palladium, Saturday, October 20, 1906.

Page Seven.

The Masquerader

Two men run into each other in a London fog. When it lifts temporarily they discover in the light of the street lamps that they are as much alike as the two Dromios, as two peas, or anything you can imagine. Their own mothers could not p. have told them apart. But their stations in life are widely different. One is rich, powerful, famous ; the other in the depths of poverty. The poor man who was high . born assumes the role of the rich and becomes The ' Masauerader For

TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT

(Continued from Page One.) caused him to draw berk. "No," he said hurriedly; "no. TI, walk." The cabman muttered, lashed tun horse aud, with a clatter of hoofs and harness, wheeled away, while Chilcote. still with uncertain hastiness, crossed the road In the direction of Whitehall, About the abbey the fog had partially lifted, and in the railed garden that faces the houses of parliament the statues were visible in a spectral way. But Chilcote's glance was unstable and Indifferent. He skirted the railings heedlessly and, crossing the road with the speed of long familiarity, gained Whitehall on the left hand side. There the fog had dropped, and, looking upward toward Trafalgar square, It seemed that the chain of lamps extended little farther than the Horse guards and that beyond lay nothing. Unconscious of this capricious alternation between darkness and " light, Chilcote continued his course. To a close observer the manner of his going had both Interest and suggestion, for though he walked on, apparently self engrossed, yet at every dozen steps he started at some sound or some touch, like a man whose nervous system Is painfully overstrung. Maintaining his haste, he went deliberately forward, oblivious of the fact that at each step the curtain of darkness about him became closer, damper, more tangible; that at each second ; the pa3sersby jostled each other with greater frequency. Then, abruptly, with a sudden realization of what . had happened, be stood quite etlll. Without anticipation or prepa ration he had walked full into the thickness of the fog a thickness so dense that, as by an enchanter's wand, the figures of a moment before melted, the street lamps were sucked up into the night.. His first feeling was a sense of panic at the srdden Isolation, his second a thrill of nervous apprehension at the oblivion that had allowed him to be so entrapped. The second feeling outweighed the first. He moved forward, then paused again, uncertain of himself. Finally,, with -the -consciousness that inaction was unbearable, he moved on xohce more, his eyes wide open, one hand thrust out as a protection and guide. The fog had closed in behind him as heavily as In front, shutting off all pos sibility of retreat. All aboift him in the darkness was a confusion of voice? cheerful, dubious, alarmed or angry. Now and then a sleeve brushed his or a hand touched him tentatively. U was a strange moment, a moment of possibilities, to which the crunching wheels, the oaths and laughter from the blocked traffic of the roadway, made a continuous accompaniment. Keeping well to the left Chilcote still beat on. There was a persistence in his movements that almost amounted to fear a fear born of solitude filled with innumerable sounds. For a space he groped about him without result, then his fingers touched the cold surface of a shuttered shop front and a thrill of reassurance passed through him.. With renewed haste and clinging to his landmark as a blind man might, he started forward with fresh Impetus. For a dozen paces he moved rapidly and unevenly, then the natural result j occurred. He collided with a man coming In the opposite direction. The shock was abrupt. Both men swore simultaneously, then both laugh ed. The whole thing was casual, but Chilcote was in that state of mind when even the commonplace becomes abnormal. The other man's exclama tion, the other man's laugh, struck on his nerves. Coming out of the darkness, they sounded like a repetition of his own. Nine out of every ten men In London, given the same social position and the same education, might reasonably be expected to express ' annoyance or amusement in the same manner, possibly In the same tone of voice, and Chil cote remembered this almost at the moment of his nervous jar. "Beastly fogr he said aloud. "I'm trying to find Grosvenor square, but the chances seem rather small." The other laughed again, and agait the laugh upset Chilcote. He wonder ed uncomfortably if he was becoming a prey to Illusions. But the strangei spoke before the question had solvet itself. - "I'm afraid they are small," he said "It would be almost hard to find one, way to the devil on a night like this." Chilcote made a murmur of amue ment and. drew back against the shop. "Yes. We can see now where t!r blind man scores In the matter of su ration. This Is almost a repetition tBbe fog of six-years ago. Were yo.

,

a second each tared blankly at the other's face. J out la tutu; .1 a naoit or nix to jump from one sentence to another, a habit that had grown of late. "No." The stranger bad also groped his way to the shop front. "Xo, I was out of England six years ago." "You were lucky." Chilcote turned up the collar of his coat. "It was an atrocious fog, as black as this, but more universal. I remember it well. It was the night Lexington made his great sugar speech. Some of us were found on Lambeth bridge at 3 in the morning, having left the house at 12." Chilcote seldom indulged in reminiscences, but this conversation with an unseen companion was more like a soliloquy than a dialogue. He was almost surprised into an exclamation when the other caught up his words. . "Ah! The sugar speech!" he said. "Odd that I should have be"en looking it up only yesterday. What a magnificent dressing up of a dry subject it was! What a career Lexington promised In those days!" Chilcote changed his position. "You are interested in the muddle down at Westminster?" he asked sarcastically. "I?" It was the turn of the stranger to draw back a step. "Oh, I read my newspaper with the other 5,000,000. that is all. I am an outsider." His voice sounded curt. The warmth that admiration had brought into it a moment before had frozen abruptly. "An outsider!" Chilcote repeated. "What an enviable word!" "Possibly, to those who are well inside the ring. But let us go back to Lexington. What a pinnacle the man reached, and what a drop he liatl! It has always seemed to me an extraor dinary instance of the human leaven running through us all. What was the real cause of his collapse?" he asked suddenly. "Was it drugs or drink? I have often wished to get at the truth." Again Chilcote changed his attitude. "Is truth ever worth getting at?" he asked irrelevantly. in tne case or a public man yes He exchanges his privacy for the interest of the masses. If he gives the masses the details of his success, why not the details of his failure? But was it drink that sucked him under?" "Xo." Chilcote's response came after a pause. I i 1 "Drugs?"' Again Chilcote hesitated. And a' the moment of his Indecision n wot'brushed past him laughing boisterous ly. The soun jarred him. "Was It drugs?" the stranger went on easily. "I have always had a theory that it was." ";- "Yes. It was morphia." The answer came before Chilcote bad realized it The woman's laugh at the stranger's quiet persistence had contrived tr draw it from him. Instantly he hail spoken he looked about him quickly like one who has for" a moment for gotten a necessary vigilance. There was silence wbsie the strangei thought over the'Jnformation just given him. Then he spoke again, with a new touch of A-ehemeoce. "So I imagined," he s. id, "though, on my soul, I never really credited it. To have gained so rauct and to have thrown it away tor a .common vice!' He made an exclaLuatlcn of disgust. Chilcote gave ap unsteady laugh "You judge hardly,'? he .aid. The other reneatetl hU sound of con tempt. "Justly so. V man has the right to squander wtjat another would give his soul for. It lessens the gen eral respect for power;." "You are a believer""-1111 power?" The tone was sarcastic, the sarcasm sounded thin. "Yes. All power is th'utcome of In dividuality. either past 'r present. 1 find no sentiment for he man who plays with it." The quiet contempt of the tone stun? Chilcote. "Do you Imagine that Lexington made no fight?" he asked impulsively "Can't you picture the man's struggle while the vice that had been slave gradually became master?" He stopped to take breath, and in the cold pause thai followed it seemed to him that the other made a murmur of In credulity. 'Terhaps you think of morphia as a pleasure?" he added. "Think of it. In stead, as n tyrant that tortures the mind if held to and the body if east off." Urged by the darkness and the silence of his companion, the rein of his speech had loosened. In that mo ment he was not Chilcote. the member for East Wark. whose moods and si lences were proverbial, but Chilcotr the man whose mind craved the relief of speech. "You talk as the world talks out o! ignorance and self righteousness." he went on. "Before you condemn Lex ington you should put yourself In hh place" "As yc-4 t'o?" the other laughed.

Unsuspecting an- morrens. e as me laugh was it startled Chiicote. With a 6Udden alarm he palled himself up. "I?" He tried to echo the laugh, but the attempt' fell flat. "Oh. I merely speak from from De Quincey. But I believe this fog Is shifting I really believe it Is shifting. Can you oblige me with a light? I had almost forgotten that a man may still smoke though he has been deprived of sight." He spoke fast and disjointedly. He was overwhelmed by the idea that he had let himself go and possessed by the wish to obliterate the consequences. As he talked he fumbled for his ciga

rette case. His head was bent as he searched for It nervously. Without looking up he was conscious that the cloud of fog that held him prisoner was liftin; rolling away, closing back again, pre paratory to final disappearance. Hav ing found thecase, he put a cigarette between his lips and raised his hand at the moment that the stranger drew a match across his box. For a second each stared blankly at the other's face, suddenly made visiFor a second each stared blankly at the other's face. ble by the lifting of the fog. The match In the stranger's hand burned down till it scorched his fingers, and, feeling the pain, he laughed and let it drop. "Of all odd things!" he said. Then he broke off. The circumstance was too novel for ordinary remark. By one of those rare occurrences, those chances that seem too wild for real life and yet belong to no other sphere, the two faces so strangely hid den and strangely revealed were iden tical, feature for feature. It seemed to each man that he looked not at the face of another, but at his own face reflected in a flawless looking glass. Of the two the stranger was the first to regain self possession. Seeing Chil cote's bewilderment, he came to his rescue with brusque tactfulness. "The position Is decidedly odd," he said. "But, after all, why should we be so surprised? Nature can't be eter naliy original. She must dry up some times, and when she gets a good model why shouldn't she use it twice?" He drew back, surveying Chilcote whim sically. "But, pardon me, you are still waiting for that light!" Chilcotte still held the cigarette between his lips. The paper had become dry, and he moistened it as he leaned toward his companion. "Don't mind me," he said. "I'm ratherrather unstrung tonight,' and this thing gave me a jar. To be candid, my imagination took head in the fog, and I got to fancying I was talk ing to myself" "And pulled up to find the fancy in some way real?" "Yes, something like that" Both were silent for a moment. Chil cote pulled hard at his cigarette, then, remembering his obligations, he turned quickly to the other. "Won't you smoke?" he asked. The stranger accepted a cigarette from the case held out to him, and as he did so the extraordinary likeness to himself struck Chilcote with added force. Involuntarily he put out his hand and touched the other's arm. "It's my nerves!" he said in explana tion. "They make me want to feel that you are substantial. Nerves play such beastly tricks!" He laughed awk wardly. The other glanced up. His expres sion on the moment was slightly sur prised, slightly contemptuous, but he changed it instantly to conventional in terest. "I am afraid I am not an au thority on nerves," he said. But Chilcote was preoccupied. His thoughts had turned into another chan nel. "How old are you?" he asked suddenly. The other did not answer Immediate ly. "My age?" he said at last slowly. "Oh, I believe I shall be thirty-six to morrow, to be quite accurate." Chilcote lifted his head quickly. "Why do you use that tone?" he asked. "I am six months older than you, and I only wish it was six years. Six year nearer oblivion" Again a slight incredulous contempt crossed the other's eyes. "Oblivion?" he said. "Where are your ambitions?" They don't exist" "Don't exist? let you voice your country? I concluded that much In the fog." Chilcote laughed sarcastically. - "When one has voiced one's country for six years one gets hoarse. It's a natural consequence." The other smiled. "Ah, discontent !' he said. 4The modern canker. But we must both be getting under way. Good night Shall we shake hands to prove that we are genuinely material?" Chilcote had been standing unusually still, following the stranger's words, caught by his self reliance and im pressed by his personality. Now, as he ceased to speak, he moved quickly forward, impelled by a nervous curi osity. "Why should we Just hail each other and pass like the proverbial ships?" he said Impulsively. "If nature was careless enough to let the reproduction meet the original she must abide the consequences." . The other laughed, but his laugh was short "Oh. I don't know. Our roads

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lie differently, lou woqiq get notning out of me. and I" He stopped and again laughed shortly. "No," he said. "I'd be content to pass if I were you. The unsuccessful man is seldom a profitable study. Shall we say good night?" He took Chilcote's hand for an in

stant, then, crossing the footpath, he passed into the roadway toward the Strand. It was done in a moment, but with his going a sense of loss fell upon Chilcote. He stood for a space, newly conscious of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar voices in the stream of passersby. Then, suddenly mastered by an im: pulse, he wheeled rapidly and darted after the tall, lean figure so ridiculously like his own. Halfway across Trafalgar square he overtook the stranger. He had paused on one of the small stone islands that break the current of traffic and was waiting for an opportunity to cross the street In the glare of light from the lamp above his head Chilcote saw for the first time that, under a remarkable neatness of appearance, his clothes were well worn almost shabby. The discovery struck him with something stronger than surprise. The idea of poverty seemed incongruous in connection with the reliance, the reserve, the personality of the man. With a certain embarrassed haste he stepped forward and touched his arm. "Look here," he said as the other turned quietly. "I have followed you to exchange cards. It can't injure either of us, and I I wish to know my other self." He laughed nervously as he drew out his cardcase. The stranger watched him In silence. There was the same faint contempt, but also there was a reluctant Interest in his glance as it passed from the fingers fumbling with the case to the pale face with the square jaw, straight mouth and level eyebrows drawn low over the gray eyes. When at last the card was held out to him he took it without remark and slipped it Into his pocket Chilcote lookod at him eagerly. "Now the exchange?" he said. For a second the stranger did not respond. Then, almost unexpectedly, be smiled. "After all, if it amuses you" he said; and, searching in his waistcoat pocket, he drew out the required card. "It will leave you quite unenlight ened," he added. "The name of a fail ure never spells anything." "With an other smile, partly amused, partly Iron leal, he stepped from the little island and disappeared into the throng of traffic. Chilcote stood for an instant gazing at the point where he had vanished; then, turning to the lamp, he lifted the card and read the name it bore, "Mr, John Loder, 13 Clifford's Inn." CHAPTER II. ' N tie morning following the niglt of fog Chilcote woke at 9, He woke at the moment that his man Allsopp tiptoed across the room and laid the salver with his early cup of tea on the table beside the bed. For several seconds he lay with his eyes shut. The effort of opening them on a fresh day the intimate certainty of what he would see on opening them seemed to weight his lids. The heavy, half closed curtains, the blinds severely drawn, the great room with its splendid furniture, its sober coloring, its scent of damn London winter above all, Allsopp, silent, respectful and re spectable were the things to dread. A full minute passed while he still feigned sleep. He heard Allsopp stir discreetly, then the inevitable informa tion broke the silence: "Nine o'clock, sir!" He opened his eyes, murmured some thing and closed them again. The man moved to the window. quietly pulled back the curtains and half drew the blind. Better night, sir, I hope?" he ven tured softly. Chilcote had drawn the bedclothes over his face to screen nimseir irom the daylight, murky though it was. "Yes," he responded. "Those beastlv nightmares didn't trouble me for once." lie shivered, a little as at some recollection. "But don't talk don't re mind me of them. I hate a man who has no originality." He spoke sharply. At times he showed an almost childish irritation over trivial things. Allsorp took the remark in silence, Crossing the wide room, he began to lay out his master's clothes. The ac tion affected Chilcote to fresh annoy ance. Confound it!" he said. "I'm sick of that routine! I can see you laying out my winding sheet the day of my burial. Leave those things. Come back In half an hour." Allsopp allowed himself one glance at his master's figure huddled In the great bed; then, laying aside the coat he was holding, he moved to the door. With his fingers on the handle, he paused. Will you breakfast in your own room, sir, or downstairs?" Chilcote drew the clothes more tight ly round his shoulders. "Oh, anywhere nowhere r he said. "I don't care." Allsopp softly withdrew. Left to himselT, Chilcote sat up in bed and lifted the salver to his knees. The sudden movement jarred him physically. He drew a handkerchief from under the pillow and wiped his forehead. Then he held his hand to the light and studied it The hand looked sallow and unsteady. With a nervous gesture he thrust the salver back upon the table and slid out of bed. Moving hastily across the room, he 6topped before one of the tall ward robes and swung the door open; then, after a furtive glance around the room, he thrust his hand into the recesses of a shelf and fumbled there. The thing he sought was evidently not hard to find, for almost at once he withdrew his hand and moved from the wardrobe to a table beside the fireplace, carrying a small glass tube filled with tabloids. On the table were a decanter, a 6iphon and a water jug. Mixing some whisky, he uncorked the tube. Again he glanced apprehensively toward the door, then with a very nervous hand dropped two tabloids into the glass. While they dissolved he stood with his hand on the table and his eyes fixed on the floor, evidently restraininf his impatience. Instantly they - had disappeared he seized the glass ant drained it at a draft replaced the bottle lii the wardrobe and. shiverint

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Sifters. slightly i . inr, suppea Dac into bed. When Allsopp returned he was sitting up, a cigarette between his lips, the teacup standing empty on the salver. The nervous irritability had gone from his manner. He no longer moved jerkily; his eyes looked brighter, his pale skin more healthy. "Ah, Allsopp," he said, "there are some moments In life, after all. It isn't all blank wall." "I ordered breakfast in the small morning room, sir," said Allsopp, without a change of expression. Chilcote breakfasted at 10. His appetite, always fickle, was particularly uncertain in the early h.ours. He helped himself to some fish, but sent away his plate untouched; then, having drunk two cups of tea, he pushed back his chair, lighted a fresh cigarette and 6hook out the morning's newspaper. Twice he shook It out and twice turned it, but the reluctance to fix his mind upon It made him dally. The effect of the morphia tabloids was still apparent in the greater steadiness of his hand and eye, the regained quiet of his susceptibilities, but the respite was temporary and lethargic. The early days the days of 6ix years ago, when these tabloids meant an even sweep of thought, lucidity of brain, a balance of judgment in thought and effort were days of the past. As he had said of Lexington and his vice, the slave had become master. As h folded the paper in a last attempt at interest the door opened, and his secretary came a step or two into the room. "Good morning, sir," hesaid. "Forgive me for being so untimely." He was a fresh mannered, bright eyed boy of twenty-three. His breezy alertness, his deference, as to a man who had attained what he aspired to, amused and depressed Chilcote by turns. "Good morning, Blessington. What is It now?" ne sighed through habit and, putting up his hnJid, warded off a ray of sun that had forced itself through the misty atmosphere as if by mistake. The boy smiled. "It's that business of the Wark timber contract sir." ho &sid. "You promised: you'd" 10oK fnto it today. You know you've shelved it for a week already, and Craig-Bur-nage are rather clamoring for an answer." He moved forward and laid the papers he was carrying on the table beside Chilcote. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance," he added. "I hope your nerves aren't worrying you today?" Chilcote was toying with the papers. At the word nerves he glanced up suspiciously. But Blessington's Ingenuous face satisfied him. "No," he said. "I settled my nerves last night with with a bromide. I knew that fog would upset me unless I took precautions." "I'm glad of that, sir, though I'd avoid bromides. Bad habit to set up. But this Wark business I'd like to get it under way if you have no objection." Chilcote passed his fingers over thf papers. "Were you out in that fog last night Blessington?" "No, sir. I supped with some people at the Savoy, and we just missed it It was very partial, I believe." "So I believe." Blessington put his hand to his neat tie and pulled it. He was extreme!? polite, but he had an inordinate sense of duty. "Forgive me, sir." he said, "but about that contract? I know I'm a frightful bore." "Oh, the contract!" Chilcote looked about him absently. "By the way, did you see anything of my wife yester day? What did she do last night?" "Mrs. Chilcot? gave me tea yesterday aftern- - was din ing at Lady Sabinet's and looking in at one or two places later." He eyed his papers In Chilcote's listless hand. Chilcote smiled satirically. "Eve I? very true to society," he said. "J couldn't dine at the Sablnets' if It wa. to make me premier. They have : butler who is an institution a sort c heirloom in the family. He Is fat an breathes audibly. Last time I lunebe there he haunted me for a whol night" Blessington laughed gayly. "Mr? Chilcote doea't see ghost's, sir." h said; "but If I may suggest" Chilcote tapped his fingers on th table. ' "Xo. Ere doeant see cfeo&is. W

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rather tu., u.crV Blessington governed . his impatience He stood still; for some seconds, thei glanced down at his pointed boot. "If you will be . lenient to my per slstency, sir,'' I would like to remim you" Chilcote lifted his head with a flaI of Irritability. "Confound it, Blessington!" he es claimed. "Am I -never to be left I peace? Am I never to sit down to s meal without having work thrust upa. me? Work work perpetually work I have heard no other word in the las six years. I declare there are tlmes"he rose suddenly from his seat an: turned to the window "there are time when I feel that for sixpence I'd chucl it all the whole beastly round" Startled by his vehemence, Blessing ton wheeled toward him. "Not your political career, sir?" There was a moment in which Chilcate hesitated, a moment In which the desire that had filled his mind for months rose to his lips and hung there. Then the question, the Incredulity In Blessington's face, chilled It and it fell back Into silence. ""1 I didn't say that1 he murmured. "You young men jump to conclusions, Blessington." (Continued Monday.) - Miss Etta McKee of Hamilton is the guest of friends in the city. CASTOR I A ' for Infants and Children. The Kind You Have Always Bought Bears the Signature of Why Not fjfWhenyotf ,

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