Chapter 8 Painful Scene

    The noonday sun beat down on Park Row. Hurrying mortals, releasedfrom a thousand offices, congested the sidewalks, their thoughtsbusy with the vision of lunch. Up and down the canyon of NassauStreet the crowds moved more slowly. Candy-selling aliens jostlednewsboys, and huge dray-horses endeavoured to the best of theirability not to grind the citizenry beneath their hooves.

　　Eastward, pressing on to the City Hall, surged the usual densearmy of happy lovers on their way to buy marriage-licenses. Menpopped in and out of the subway entrances like rabbits. It was astirring, bustling scene, typical of this nerve-centre of NewYork's vast body.

　　Jimmy Crocker, standing in the doorway, watched the throngsenviously. There were men in that crowd who chewed gum, therewere men who wore white satin ties with imitation diamondstick-pins, there were men who, having smoked seven-tenths of acigar, were eating the remainder: but there was not one with whomhe would not at that moment willingly have exchanged identities.

　　For these men had jobs. And in his present frame of mind itseemed to him that no further ingredient was needed for therecipe of the ultimate human bliss.

　　The poet has said some very searching and unpleasant things aboutthe man "whose heart has ne'er within him burned as home hisfootsteps he has turned from wandering on some foreign strand,"but he might have excused Jimmy for feeling just then not so mucha warmth of heart as a cold and clammy sensation of dismay. Hewould have had to admit that the words "High though his titles,proud his name, boundless his wealth as wish can claim" did notapply to Jimmy Crocker. The latter may have been "concentred allon self," but his wealth consisted of one hundred andthirty-three dollars and forty cents and his name was so far frombeing proud that the mere sight of it in the files of the NewYork _Sunday Chronicle_, the record-room of which he had just beenvisiting, had made him consider the fact that he had changed itto Bayliss the most sensible act of his career.

　　The reason for Jimmy's lack of enthusiasm as he surveyed theportion of his native land visible from his doorway is not far toseek. The _Atlantic_ had docked on Saturday night, and Jimmy,having driven to an excellent hotel and engaged an expensive roomtherein, had left instructions at the desk that breakfast shouldbe served to him at ten o'clock and with it the Sunday issue ofthe _Chronicle_. Five years had passed since he had seen the dearold rag for which he had reported so many fires, murders,street-accidents, and weddings: and he looked forward to itsperusal as a formal taking _seisin_ of his long-neglected country.

　　Nothing could be more fitting and symbolic than that the firstmorning of his return to America should find him propped up inbed reading the good old _Chronicle_. Among his final meditationsas he dropped off to sleep was a gentle speculation as to who wasCity editor now and whether the comic supplement was stillfeaturing the sprightly adventures of the Doughnut family.

　　A wave of not unmanly sentiment passed over him on the followingmorning as he reached out for the paper. The sky-line of NewYork, seen as the boat comes up the bay, has its points, and therattle of the Elevated trains and the quaint odour of the Subwayextend a kindly welcome, but the thing that really convinces thereturned traveller that he is back on Manhattan Island is thefirst Sunday paper. Jimmy, like every one else, began by openingthe comic supplement: and as he scanned it a chilly discomfort,almost a premonition of evil, came upon him. The Doughnut Familywas no more. He knew that it was unreasonable of him to feel asif he had just been informed of the death of a dear friend, forPa Doughnut and his associates had been having their adventuresfive years before he had left the country, and even the toughestcomic supplementary hero rarely endures for a decade: butnevertheless the shadow did fall upon his morning optimism, andhe derived no pleasure whatever from the artificial rollickingsof a degraded creature called Old Pop Dill-Pickle who was offeredas a substitute.

　　But this, he was to discover almost immediately, was a triflingdisaster. It distressed him, but it did not affect his materialwelfare. Tragedy really began when he turned to the magazinesection. Scarcely had he started to glance at it when thisheadline struck him like a bullet:

　　PICCADILLY JIM AT IT AGAINAnd beneath it his own name.

　　Nothing is so capable of diversity as the emotion we feel onseeing our name unexpectedly in print. We may soar to the heightsor we may sink to the depths. Jimmy did the latter. A merecursory first inspection of the article revealed the fact that itwas no eulogy. With an unsparing hand the writer had muck-rakedhis eventful past, the text on which he hung his remarks beingthat ill-fated encounter with Lord Percy Whipple at the SixHundred Club. This the scribe had recounted at a length and witha boisterous vim which outdid even Bill Blake's effort in theLondon _Daily Sun_. Bill Blake had been handicapped byconsideration of space and the fact that he had turned in hiscopy at an advanced hour when the paper was almost made up. Thepresent writer was shackled by no restrictions. He had plenty ofroom to spread himself in, and he had spread himself. So liberalhad been the editor's views in the respect that, in addition tothe letter-press, the pages contained an unspeakably offensivepicture of a burly young man in an obviously advanced conditionof alcoholism raising his fist to strike a monocled youth inevening dress who had so little chin that Jimmy was surprisedthat he had ever been able to hit it. The only gleam ofconsolation that he could discover in this repellent drawing wasthe fact that the artist had treated Lord Percy even morescurvily than himself. Among other things, the second son of theDuke of Devizes was depicted as wearing a coronet--a thing whichwould have excited remark even in a London night-club.

　　Jimmy read the thing through in its entirety three times beforehe appreciated a _nuance_ which his disordered mind had at firstfailed to grasp--to wit, that this character-sketch of himselfwas no mere isolated outburst but apparently one of a series. Inseveral places the writer alluded unmistakeably to other theseson the same subject.

　　Jimmy's breakfast congealed on its tray, untouched. That boonwhich the gods so seldom bestow, of seeing ourselves as otherssee us, had been accorded to him in full measure. By the time hehad completed his third reading he was regarding himself in apurely objective fashion not unlike the attitude of a naturalisttowards some strange and loathesome manifestation of insect life.

　　So this was the sort of fellow he was! He wondered they had lethim in at a reputable hotel.

　　The rest of the day he passed in a state of such humility that hecould have wept when the waiters were civil to him. On the Mondaymorning he made his way to Park Row to read the files of the_Chronicle_--a morbid enterprise, akin to the eccentric behaviourof those priests of Baal who gashed themselves with knives or ofauthors who subscribe to press-clipping agencies.

　　He came upon another of the articles almost at once, in an issuenot a month old. Then there was a gap of several weeks, and hoperevived that things might not be as bad as he had feared--only tobe crushed by another trenchant screed. After that he set abouthis excavations methodically, resolved to know the worst. Heknew it in just under two hours. There it all was--his row withthe bookie, his bad behaviour at the political meeting, hisbreach-of-promise case. It was a complete biography.

　　And the name they called him. Piccadilly Jim! Ugh!

　　He went out into Park Row, and sought a quiet doorway where hecould brood upon these matters.

　　It was not immediately that the practical or financial aspect ofthe affair came to scourge him. For an appreciable time hesuffered in his self-esteem alone. It seemed to him that allthese bustling persons who passed knew him, that they werecasting sidelong glances at him and laughing derisively, thatthose who chewed gum chewed it sneeringly and that those who atetheir cigars ate them with thinly-veiled disapproval and scorn.

　　Then, the passage of time blunting sensitiveness, he found thatthere were other and weightier things to consider.

　　As far as he had had any connected plan of action in his suddencasting-off of the flesh-pots of London, he had determined assoon as possible after landing to report at the office of his oldpaper and apply for his ancient position. So little thought hadhe given to the minutiae of his future plans that it had notoccurred to him that he had anything to do but walk in, slap thegang on the back, and announce that he was ready to work. Work!--on the staff of a paper whose chief diversion appeared to be thesatirising of his escapades! Even had he possessed the moralcourage--or gall--to make the application, what good would it be?

　　He was a by-word in a world where he had once been a worthycitizen. What paper would trust Piccadilly Jim with anassignment? What paper would consider Piccadilly Jim even onspace rates? A chill dismay crept over him. He seemed to hear thegrave voice of Bayliss the butler speaking in his car as he hadspoken so short a while before at Paddington Station.

　　"Is it not a little rash, Mr. James?"Rash was the word. Here he stood, in a country that had nopossible use for him, a country where competition was keen andjobs for the unskilled infrequent. What on earth was there thathe could do?

　　Well, he could go home. . . . No, he couldn't. His pride revoltedat that solution. Prodigal Son stuff was all very well in itsway, but it lost its impressiveness if you turned up again athome two weeks after you had left. A decent interval among thehusks and swine was essential. Besides, there was his father toconsider. He might be a poor specimen of a fellow, as witness the_Sunday Chronicle_ _passim_, but he was not so poor as to comeslinking back to upset things for his father just when he haddone the only decent thing by removing himself. No, that was outof the question.

　　What remained? The air of New York is bracing and healthy, but aman cannot live on it. Obviously he must find a job. But whatjob?

　　What could he do?

　　A gnawing sensation in the region of the waistcoat answered thequestion. The solution--which it put forward was, it was true,but a temporary one, yet it appealed strongly to Jimmy. He hadfound it admirable at many crises. He would go and lunch, and itmight be that food would bring inspiration.

　　He moved from his doorway and crossed to the entrance of thesubway. He caught a timely express, and a few minutes lateremerged into the sunlight again at Grand Central. He made his waywestward along Forty-second Street to the hotel which he thoughtwould meet his needs. He had scarcely entered it when in a chairby the door he perceived Ann Chester, and at the sight of her allhis depression vanished and he was himself again.

　　"Why, how do you do, Mr. Bayliss? Are you lunching here?""Unless there is some other place that you would prefer," saidJimmy. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."Ann laughed. She was looking very delightful in something softand green.

　　"I'm not going to lunch with you. I'm waiting for Mr. Ralstoneand his sister. Do you remember him? He crossed over with us. Hischair was next to mine on the promenade deck."Jimmy was shocked. When he thought how narrowly she had escaped,poor girl, from lunching with that insufferable pill Teddy--orwas it Edgar?--he felt quite weak. Recovering himself, he spokefirmly.

　　"When were they to have met you?""At one o'clock.""It is now five past. You are certainly not going to wait anylonger. Come with me, and we will whistle for cabs.""Don't be absurd!""Come along. I want to talk to you about my future.""I shall certainly do nothing of the kind," said Ann, rising. Shewent with him to the door. "Teddy would never forgive me." Shegot into the cab. "It's only because you have appealed to me tohelp you discuss your future," she said, as they drove off.

　　"Nothing else would have induced me . . .""I know," said Jimmy. "I felt that I could rely on your womanlysympathy. Where shall we go?""Where do you want to go? Oh, I forget that you have never beenin New York before. By the way, what are your impressions of ourglorious country?""Most gratifying, if only I could get a job.""Tell him to drive to Delmonico's. It's just around the corner onForty-fourth Street.""There are some things round the corner, then?""That sounds cryptic. What do you mean.""You've forgotten our conversation that night on the ship. Yourefused to admit the existence of wonderful things just round thecorner. You said some very regrettable things that night. Aboutlove, if you remember.""You can't be going to talk about love at one o'clock in theafternoon! Talk about your future.""Love is inextricably mixed up with my future.""Not with your immediate future. I thought you said that you weretrying to get a job. Have you given up the idea of newspaperwork, then?""Absolutely.""Well, I'm rather glad."The cab drew up at the restaurant door, and the conversation wasinterrupted. When they were seated at their table and Jimmy hadgiven an order to the waiter of absolutely inexcusableextravagance, Ann returned to the topic.

　　"Well, now the thing is to find something for you to do."Jimmy looked round the restaurant with appreciative eyes. Thesummer exodus from New York was still several weeks distant, andthe place was full of prosperous-looking lunchers, not one ofwhom appeared to have a care or an unpaid bill in the world. Theatmosphere was redolent of substantial bank-balances. Solvencyshone from the closely shaven faces of the men and reflecteditself in the dresses of the women. Jimmy sighed.

　　"I suppose so," he said. "Though for choice I'd like to be one ofthe Idle Rich. To my mind the ideal profession is strolling intothe office and touching the old dad for another thousand."Ann was severe.

　　"You revolt me!" she said. "I never heard anything so thoroughlydisgraceful. You _need_ work!""One of these days," said Jimmy plaintively, "I shall be sittingby the roadside with my dinner-pail, and you will come by in yourlimousine, and I shall look up at you and say '_You_ hounded meinto this!' How will you feel then?""Very proud of myself.""In that case, there is no more to be said. I'd much rather hangabout and try to get adopted by a millionaire, but if you insiston my working--Waiter!""What do you want?" asked Ann.

　　"Will you get me a Classified Telephone Directory," said Jimmy.

　　"What for?" asked Ann.

　　"To look for a profession. There is nothing like beingmethodical."The waiter returned, bearing a red book. Jimmy thanked him andopened it at the A's.

　　"The boy, what will he become?" he said. He turned the pages.

　　"How about an Auditor? What do you think of that?""Do you think you could audit?""That I could not say till I had tried. I might turn out to bevery good at it. How about an Adjuster?""An adjuster of what?""The book doesn't say. It just remarks broadly--in a sort ofspacious way--'Adjuster.' I take it that, having decided tobecome an adjuster, you then sit down and decide what you wish toadjust. One might, for example, become an Asparagus Adjuster.""A what?""Surely you know? Asparagus Adjusters are the fellows who sellthose rope-and-pulley affairs by means of which the Smart Setlower asparagus into their mouths--or rather Francis the footmandoes it for them, of course. The diner leans back in his chair,and the menial works the apparatus in the background. It isentirely superseding the old-fashioned method of picking thevegetable up and taking a snap at it. But I suspect that to be asuccessful Asparagus Adjuster requires capital. We now come toAwning Crank and Spring Rollers. I don't think I should likethat. Rolling awning cranks seems to me a sorry way of spendinglife's springtime. Let's try the B's.""Let's try this omelette. It looks delicious." Jimmy shook hishead.

　　"I will toy with it--but absently and in a _distrait_ manner, asbecomes a man of affairs. There's nothing in the B's. I mightdevote my ardent youth to Bar-Room Glassware and Bottlers'

　　Supplies. On the other hand, I might not. Similarly, while thereis no doubt a bright future for somebody in Celluloid, Fiberloid,and Other Factitious Goods, instinct tells me that there is nonefor--" he pulled up on the verge of saying, "James BraithwaiteCrocker," and shuddered at the nearness of the pitfall.

　　"--for--" he hesitated again--"for Algernon Bayliss," heconcluded.

　　Ann smiled delightedly. It was so typical that his father shouldhave called him something like that. Time had not dimmed herregard for the old man she had seen for that brief moment atPaddington Station. He was an old dear, and she thoroughlyapproved of this latest manifestation of his supposed pride inhis offspring.

　　"Is that really your name--Algernon?""I cannot deny it.""I think your father is a darling," said Ann inconsequently.

　　Jimmy had buried himself in the directory again.

　　"The D's," he said. "Is it possible that posterity will know meas Bayliss the Dermatologist? Or as Bayliss the Drop Forger? Idon't quite like that last one. It may be a respectableoccupation, but it sounds rather criminal to me. The sentence forforging drops is probably about twenty years with hard labour.""I wish you would put that book away and go on with your lunch,"said Ann.

　　"Perhaps," said Jimmy, "my grandchildren will cluster round myknee some day and say in their piping, childish voices, 'Tell ushow you became the Elastic Stocking King, grandpa!' What do youthink?""I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You are wastingyour time, when you ought to be either talking to me or elsethinking very seriously about what you mean to do."Jimmy was turning the pages rapidly.

　　"I will be with you in a moment," he said. "Try to amuse yourselfsomehow till I am at leisure. Ask yourself a riddle. Tellyourself an anecdote. Think of life. No, it's no good. I don'tsee myself as a Fan Importer, a Glass Beveller, a Hotel Broker,an Insect Exterminator, a Junk Dealer, a Kalsomine Manufacturer,a Laundryman, a Mausoleum Architect, a Nurse, an Oculist, aPaper-Hanger, a Quilt Designer, a Roofer, a Ship Plumber, aTinsmith, an Undertaker, a Veterinarian, a Wig Maker, an X-rayapparatus manufacturer, a Yeast producer, or a Zinc Spelter." Heclosed the book. "There is only one thing to do. I must starve inthe gutter. Tell me--you know New York better than I do--where isthere a good gutter?"At this moment there entered the restaurant an Immaculate Person.

　　He was a young man attired in faultlessly fitting clothes, withshoes of flawless polish and a perfectly proportioned floweret inhis buttonhole. He surveyed the room through a monocle. He was apleasure to look upon, but Jimmy, catching sight of him, startedviolently and felt no joy at all; for he had recognised him. Itwas a man he knew well and who knew him well--a man whom he hadlast seen a bare two weeks ago at the Bachelors' Club in London.

　　Few things are certain in this world, but one was that, ifBartling--such was the Vision's name--should see him, he wouldcome over and address him as Crocker. He braced himself to thetask of being Bayliss, the whole Bayliss, and nothing butBayliss. It might he that stout denial would carry him through.

　　After all, Reggie Bartling was a man of notoriously feebleintellect, who could believe in anything.

　　The monocle continued its sweep. It rested on Jimmy's profile.

　　"By Gad!" said the Vision.

　　Reginald Bartling had landed in New York that morning, andalready the loneliness of a strange city had begun to oppresshim. He had come over on a visit of pleasure, his suit-casestuffed with letters of introduction, but these he had not yetused. There was a feeling of home-sickness upon him, and he achedfor a pal. And there before him sat Jimmy Crocker, one of thebest. He hastened to the table.

　　"I say, Crocker, old chap, I didn't know you were over here. Whendid you arrive?"Jimmy was profoundly thankful that he had seen this pest in timeto be prepared for him. Suddenly assailed in this fashion, hewould undoubtedly have incriminated himself by recognition of hisname. But, having anticipated the visitation, he was able to saya whole sentence to Ann before showing himself aware that it washe who was addressed.

　　"I say! Jimmy Crocker!"Jimmy achieved one of the blankest stares of modern times. Helooked at Ann. Then he looked at Bartling again.

　　"I think there's some mistake," he said. "My name is Bayliss."Before his stony eye the immaculate Bartling wilted. It was aperfectly astounding likeness, but it was apparent to him whenwhat he had ever heard and read about doubles came to him. He wasconfused. He blushed. It was deuced bad form going up to aperfect stranger like this and pretending you knew him. Probablythe chappie thought he was some kind of a confidence johnnie orsomething. It was absolutely rotten! He continued to blush tillone could have fancied him scarlet to the ankles. He backed away,apologising in ragged mutters. Jimmy was not insensible to thepathos of his suffering acquaintance's position; he knew Reggieand his devotion to good form sufficiently well to enable him toappreciate the other's horror at having spoken to a fellow towhom he had never been introduced; but necessity forbade anyother course. However Reggie's soul might writhe and howeversleepless Reggie's nights might become as a result of thisencounter, he was prepared to fight it out on those lines if ittook all summer. And, anyway, it was darned good for Reggie toget a jolt like that every once in a while. Kept him bright andlively.

　　So thinking, he turned to Ann again, while the crimson Bartlingtottered off to restore his nerve centres to their normal tone atsome other hostelry. He found Ann staring amazedly at him, eyeswide and lips parted.

　　"Odd, that!" he observed with a light carelessness which headmired extremely and of which he would not have believed himselfcapable. "I suppose I must be somebody's double. What was thename he said?""Jimmy Crocker!" cried Ann.

　　Jimmy raised his glass, sipped, and put it down.

　　"Oh yes, I remember. So it was. It's a curious thing, too, thatit sounds familiar. I've heard the name before somewhere.""I was talking about Jimmy Crocker on the ship. That evening ondeck."Jimmy looked at her doubtfully.

　　"Were you? Oh yes, of course. I've got it now. He is the man youdislike so."Ann was still looking at him as if he had undergone a change intosomething new and strange.

　　"I hope you aren't going to let the resemblance prejudice youagainst _me_?" said Jimmy. "Some are born Jimmy Crockers, othershave Jimmy Crockers thrust upon them. I hope you'll bear in mindthat I belong to the latter class.""It's such an extraordinary thing.""Oh, I don't know. You often hear of doubles. There was a man inEngland a few years ago who kept getting sent to prison forthings some genial stranger who happened to look like him haddone.""I don't mean that. Of course there are doubles. But it iscurious that you should have come over here and that we shouldhave met like this at just this time. You see, the reason I wentover to England at all was to try to get Jimmy Crocker to comeback here.""What!""I don't mean that _I_ did. I mean that I went with my uncle andaunt, who wanted to persuade him to come and live with them."Jimmy was now feeling completely out of his depth.

　　"Your uncle and aunt? Why?""I ought to have explained that they are his uncle and aunt, too.

　　My aunt's sister married his father.""But--""It's quite simple, though it doesn't sound so. Perhaps youhaven't read the _Sunday Chronicle_ lately? It has been publishingarticles about Jimmy Crocker's disgusting behaviour inLondon--they call him Piccadilly Jim, you know--"In print, that name had shocked Jimmy. Spoken, and by Ann, it wasloathly. Remorse for his painful past tore at him.

　　"There was another one printed yesterday.""I saw it," said Jimmy, to avert description.

　　"Oh, did you? Well, just to show you what sort of a man JimmyCrocker is, the Lord Percy Whipple whom he attacked in the clubwas his very best friend. His step-mother told my aunt so. Heseems to be absolutely hopeless." She smiled. "You're lookingquite sad, Mr. Bayliss. Cheer up! You may look like him, but youaren't him he?--him?--no, 'he' is right. The soul is what counts.

　　If you've got a good, virtuous, Algernonish soul, it doesn'tmatter if you're so like Jimmy Crocker that his friends come upand talk to you in restaurants. In fact, it's rather anadvantage, really. I'm sure that if you were to go to my aunt andpretend to be Jimmy Crocker, who had come over after all in a fitof repentance, she would be so pleased that there would benothing she wouldn't do for you. You might realise your ambitionof being adopted by a millionaire. Why don't you try it? I won'tgive you away.""Before they found me out and hauled me off to prison, I shouldhave been near you for a time. I should have lived in the samehouse with you, spoken to you--!" Jimmy's voice shook.

　　Ann turned her head to address an imaginary companion.

　　"You must listen to this, my dear," she said in an undertone. "Hespeaks _wonderfully!_ They used to call him the Boy Orator in hishome-town. Sometimes that, and sometimes Eloquent Algernon!"Jimmy eyed her fixedly. He disapproved of this frivolity.

　　"One of these days you will try me too high--!""Oh, you didn't hear what I was saying to my friend, did you?"she said in concern. "But I meant it, every word. I love to hearyou talk. You have such _feeling!_"Jimmy attuned himself to the key of the conversation.

　　"Have you no sentiment in you?" he demanded.

　　"I was just warming up, too! In another minute you would haveheard something worth while. You've damped me now. Let's talkabout my lifework again.""Have you thought of anything?""I'd like to be one of those fellows who sit in offices, and signchecks, and tell the office-boy to tell Mr. Rockerfeller they cangive him five minutes. But of course I should need a check-book,and I haven't got one. Oh well, I shall find something to do allright. Now tell me something about yourself. Let's drop thefuture for awhile."* * * * *An hour later Jimmy turned into Broadway. He walked pensively,for he had much to occupy his mind. How strange that the Pettsshould have come over to England to try to induce him to returnto New York, and how galling that, now that he was in New York,this avenue to a prosperous future was closed by the fact thatsomething which he had done five years ago--that he couldremember nothing about it was quite maddening--had caused Ann tonurse this abiding hatred of him. He began to dream tenderly ofAnn, bumping from pedestrian to pedestrian in a gentle trance.

　　From this trance the seventh pedestrian aroused him by utteringhis name, the name which circumstances had compelled him toabandon.

　　"Jimmy Crocker!"Surprise brought Jimmy back from his dreams to the hard world--surprise and a certain exasperation. It was ridiculous to beincognito in a city which he had not visited in five years and tobe instantly recognised in this way by every second man he met.

　　He looked sourly at the man. The other was a sturdy,square-shouldered, battered young man, who wore on his homelyface a grin of recognition and regard. Jimmy was not particularlygood at remembering faces, but this person's was of a kind whichthe poorest memory might have recalled. It was, as theadvertisements say, distinctively individual. The broken nose,the exiguous forehead, and the enlarged ears all clamoured forrecognition. The last time Jimmy had seen Jerry Mitchell had beentwo years before at the National Sporting Club in London, and,placing him at once, he braced himself, as a short while ago hehad braced himself to confound immaculate Reggie.

　　"Hello!" said the battered one.

　　"Hello indeed!" said Jimmy courteously. "In what way can Ibrighten your life?"The grin faded from the other's face. He looked puzzled.

　　"You're Jimmy Crocker, ain't you?""No. My name chances to be Algernon Bayliss."Jerry Mitchell reddened.

　　"'Scuse me. My mistake."He was moving off, but Jimmy stopped him. Parting from Ann hadleft a large gap in his life, and he craved human society.

　　"I know you now," he said. "You're Jerry Mitchell. I saw youfight Kid Burke four years ago in London."The grin returned to the pugilist's face, wider than ever. Hebeamed with gratification.

　　"Gee! Think of that! I've quit since then. I'm working for an oldguy named Pett. Funny thing, he's Jimmy Crocker's uncle that Imistook you for. Say, you're a dead ringer for that guy! I couldhave sworn it was him when you bumped into me. Say, are you doinganything?""Nothing in particular.""Come and have a yarn. There's a place I know just round byhere.""Delighted."They made their way to the place.

　　"What's yours?" said Jerry Mitchell. "I'm on the wagon myself,"he said apologetically.

　　"So am I," said Jimmy. "It's the only way. No sense in alwaysdrinking and making a disgraceful exhibition of yourself inpublic!"Jerry Mitchell received this homily in silence. It disposeddefinitely of the lurking doubt in his mind as to the possibilityof this man really being Jimmy Crocker. Though outwardlyconvinced by the other's denial, he had not been able to ridhimself till now of a nebulous suspicion. But this convinced him.

　　Jimmy Crocker would never have said a thing like that nor wouldhave refused the offer of alcohol. He fell into pleasantconversation with him. His mind eased.