AS IN A LOOKING-GLASS.
The day was overcast and lowery. It was not actually raining, but the
raw wind from the Sound brought with it a heavy mist, damp and clogging,
which was almost as bad. The crispness was taken out of everything, the
sidewalks were dank and slippery, and pedestrians hurried along the
streets with turned-up collars, turned-down hat brims, and a general air
of shivery unpleasantness, as if they hated themselves, the people they
brushed elbows with, and, above all else, the business which made it
necessary for them to be out in such sloppy weather.
Dick Merriwell, who had returned to New Haven, was no exception to the
general rule as he walked along Chapel Street toward the campus. His
long, loose, tightly buttoned coat, with the collar turned above the
ears, was covered with a multitude of tiny drips of moisture, almost
like hoarfrost. The brim of his soft felt hat was pulled down over his
eyes, and now and then a drop of water gathered at the point and
splashed to the sidewalk.
He had been out on a rather important errand and, being anxious to get
over to the dining hall on time, he did not dawdle, but strode along,
gloved hands deep down in his pockets, growling under his breath
maledictions on the weather which would effectually prevent any football
practice on the field that afternoon.
He was walking on the inside of the sidewalk, close to the shop windows,
and had almost reached the corner of Temple Street when he collided
violently with a man who came dashing out of a store without a glance to
see where he was going.
Both men staggered a little from the shock and the stranger’s black
derby was knocked off. It was rolling toward the gutter when Dick caught
it and turned to restore it to its owner.
“Beg pardon,” he said regretfully. “I had no idea——”
He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening with astonishment. For a second
he stared in bewilderment at the young man before him.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he ejaculated.
The other man looked scarcely less surprised.
“Exactly!” he returned. “You took the very words out of my mouth.”
His keen, dark eyes were surveying Merriwell in much the same way that
the Yale man looked at him, and his handsome face wore on it just such a
look of whimsical perplexity as distinguished Dick’s countenance.
And smaller wonder. Had the two been twin brothers they could scarcely
have been more alike. There was not a fraction of an inch variation in
their heights. Both were well set-up, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped,
with the lithe grace of carriage which distinguishes the well-developed
athlete. Both had dark hair and equally dark eyes, straight noses, and
well-shaped, sensitive mouths.
The fellow who had come out of the shop looked a trifle older than the
Yale senior, and there were a number of minor points about his face and
figure which would be quite apparent to a close observer when the two
men were together; but, taken all in all, the resemblance was quite
close enough to warrant the surprise which each one manifested at the
sight of the other.
Merriwell recovered his customary poise first.
“It certainly does give a fellow a queer feeling to run up against his
double in this casual sort of way,” he remarked lightly.
“Doesn’t it?” replied the stranger. “You don’t happen to be some
long-lost brother that I’ve never heard of, do you?”
Dick smiled.
“I doubt it,” he returned. “I never had but one, and he looks less like
me than you do. Perhaps somewhere back in the dark ages our ancestors
were the same. My name is Merriwell, by the bye.”
The other gave a sudden start and a look of chagrin flashed over his
face.
“Merriwell!” he exclaimed. “Dick Merriwell, of Yale! Of course. If I
wasn’t the thickest sort of a blockhead that ever walked, I’d have
caught on before.”
The Yale man looked puzzled.
“It isn’t possible we’ve ever met before,” he said quickly. “You’re not
the sort of man I’d be likely to forget in a hurry.”
The stranger laughed.
“We’ve never met, though I’ve tried to meet you a number of times,” he
laughed. “But I’ve seen you more than once. I can’t think why I didn’t
recognize you at once. I suppose it’s because I’ve never had a really
good, close look at you before. It has always been a long-distance
glimpse from the bleachers or the grand stand out on the athletic field,
and you know how football paraphernalia disguises a fellow.
“By Jove! I’m glad I was Johnny-on-the-spot just now, even if I did
nearly knock you down. My name is Austin Demarest, and I certainly am
glad to meet you.”
He held out a slim, brown hand with such an air of pleasure and
camaraderie that Merriwell could not help a feeling of satisfaction as
he clasped it in his own.
“And I you, Mr. Demarest,” he returned quickly. “I have a notion that I
could like you a lot if I ever had a chance. Perhaps that sounds rather
conceited, though.”
“Sort of in the nature of self-praise, eh?” chuckled Demarest. “It would
be tough if a fellow couldn’t get along pretty well with himself,
wouldn’t it?”
Unconsciously they had turned and were walking slowly along Chapel
Street. Each one seemed unable to refrain from throwing occasional swift
glances at the other, as if to satisfy himself that the odd resemblance
was really a concrete fact and not some chance figment of the
imagination.
Presently their eyes met and both burst out laughing.
“It doesn’t seem right,” chuckled Demarest. “I can’t get used to looking
at you as if I were gazing at a mirror.”
“Nor I,” Merriwell agreed. “What sport we could have if you were only in
the university. I can conjure up all sorts of attractive possibilities.”
“Such as substitution in lecture rooms?” suggested Demarest slyly.
“Not so much that as the fun we could have outside,” Dick answered. “By
the way, what was the reason you wanted to meet me so much?”
Demarest did not answer at once. His face clouded and the laughter died
out of his eyes. It was as if the question had recalled to his mind
something disagreeable which had, for the moment, been forgotten. Twice
he glanced hesitatingly at Merriwell in a troubled, doubtful sort of way
as one who does not know quite what course to pursue.
“It’s a rather long story,” he said, at length; “and yet I think I’d
like to tell it, if you have time to listen. Have you got anything on
for a couple of hours? Couldn’t you come in and lunch with me?”
He made a quick gesture toward the New Haven House, at the entrance to
which they had stopped an instant before.
“Why, yes,” Dick returned readily, “I’ll be very glad to. I was on my
way to the dining hall, but this will be much better.”
Demarest’s face cleared.
“Good,” he said tersely. “I’m in the deuce of a hole, and perhaps you
can help me out of it. Even if you can’t, there’s always a certain
satisfaction in pouring one’s woes into a sympathetic ear.”
Dick smiled as they entered the hotel lobby and walked toward the
cloakroom.
“What makes you so sure my ear will be sympathetic?” he asked. “You may
get a terrible disappointment.”
“I guess not,” Demarest returned quickly. “We look so much alike that
the resemblance can’t possibly stop at that. And I’m so blamed sorry for
myself that sometimes I could fairly weep at my own misfortunes. Haven’t
you felt sad sometimes without knowing the reason why?”
Merriwell nodded.
“Once in a while, yes.”
“I knew it!” Demarest exclaimed. “Those were the times when I was being
more severely mauled by the Goddess of Misfortune than usual. Sort of
mental telepathy, you know. But come, let’s not waste any more precious
minutes. I fairly pine to let loose the floodgates of self-confession,
and over there in the corner I see an empty table which had been saved
for us by a special dispensation of providence.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------