The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 3 — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

522 | A WEIRD INTERVAL, into his eyes: ‘‘ But you said that this was Tarrytown. And—and there is this ’’—he drew his finger swiftly across his mustache, then put up his other hand to feel the week’s growth of beard upon his chin—‘‘I can’t under- stand it. Merciful heaven, I know not who I am !”’ “There, be calm, my dear boy. It will all come back to you in time. I will turn down the light now and go out that you may get some sleep.”’ But Cadwalader did not sleep for hours after that. He seetned like one who, while yet having a body endowed with breath and all the functions for living, was yet without a soul—that inner consciousness that tells a man who he is, and gives him a place in the community. For now even the memory of his own name had gone from him. Again and again he tried to recall the railroad accident of which he had been told ; but the only recollection he had of the cars was when he and Harry Clark had gone to the Adirondacks one summer and camped out. If he could only see Harry, perhaps all would come Straight again. But Tarrytown ! That place was miles from home, down by New York, a city in which he had never been. Oh, it was all a horrible mystery, a nightmare! Perhaps if he waited, as the other had said, the mist would clear away. It was towards morning when he finally fell asleep ; and when he woke again, it-was to hear once more that bird singing and see the golden shafts of the sun stealing into the room. : ‘You will have some breakfast now, I am sure.’’ Cadwalader turned his head at the sound of the voice whose ‘sweetness he had already remarked. She was arranging a tempting repast on a little table by the bedside. ‘“ Arthur says you may eat civilized food now,’’ she went on with a little laugh, ‘‘ and give up gruels and all that.”’ ‘‘ Who is Arthur?’’ asked Cadwalader as he took the napkin she handed him. “Why, my cousin, the doctor,’’ was the answer. ‘‘ You feela great deal better today, don’t you?”’ | “Yes, I think I do, now that I’ve decided to wait patiently as your cousin advised till memory comes back to me. You can’t tell me anything about Harry Clark, can you?” The pretty head was shaken, while a brief look of anxiety came into the hazel eyes. '' Here is some honey, made by Arthur’s own bees. Iam sure you will like it.’’ ‘‘ I believe you are afraid of me,’’ Cadwalader began a moment or two later. ‘‘But really, I can’t blame you,’’ he added. ‘‘If a man doesn’t know his own name, other people have a right to be a little shy of him. By the way, is there a hand mirror about here? Perhaps if I took a look at it myself, it might help me. You won’t think me conceited, will you ?’’ "' Oh, very,’’ she laughed, and went off to get the glass. ; Cadwalader looked long and earnestly at his own reflection. The sensa- tion was the strangest he had ever experienced—that of locking at his own 5