The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 3 — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

——_- - — A WEIRD INTERVAL. 523 countenance and finding it as the face of one whom he had never seen be- fore. 3 ‘Tell me something about myself,’’ he said as he handed the mirror back. ‘‘ Don’t you know who I am?”’ ‘Not yet,’’ replied the girl, with her ready smile. ‘‘Somebody had robbed you while you lay helpless there in the wreck. Arthur does not even know what station your ticket called for. The conductor was killed, you know.”’ “No, I don’t know,’’ Cadwalader rejoined softly. ‘‘ Tell me about it, won’t you please? Were any of the passengers killed, too?’’ “Ves eight or nine of them. The brakeman got talking and let the train he was to signal go by. Oh, it was a dreadful thing |’ ‘But it was very good in—in your cousin to bring me here—to his home. What made him do it? Just think what obligations he puts me under to him, and how am I ever to pay him back? I seem as helpless as an infant.’’ ‘©Oh, you mustn’t worry about that,’’ broke in the other, noting that the patient’s forehead was beginning to wrinkle. ‘‘ The accident happened right at the foot of our garden here; it was thought unsafe to carry you far, and Arthur already has his reward in your speedy recovery. No, no, you mustn’t try to think so hard who you are. It will all come back to you very soon now.’’ ‘ Hasn’t anybody inquired after me,’’ asked Cadwalader. ‘‘I ought to _ send a telegram to my mother. Will you write one for me?”’ ‘“Ves, indeed,’’ responded the fair nurse, and she seated herself at the escritoire in the corner. ‘‘ What shall I say? Mrs. £: She held the pencil poised and looked over toward the bed questioningly. ‘‘T can’t remember her name, nor the town. I only recall Harry Clark and Alonzo Peterman.’’ Cadwalader spoke very soberly. Then, noting his seriousness reflected in the face of his companion, he added more cheerfully, ‘ But I will pin my faith to your cousin’s opinion and wait.’’ And in spite of all, these days of waiting were very pleasant ones. Dr. Raymond was a charming fellow. He would not permit his patient to worry for one instant about his strange position in the household. ‘“Vou have already repaid me to the full,’’ he would say. ‘‘ Why, there are hundreds of physicians in the country who would give thousands of dollars to have the opportunity I enjoy of studying at first hand a case as peculiar as yours.’’ With this assurance to make his mind easy, Cadwalader gave himself up entirely to the task of getting well as speedily as possible. Dr. Raymond provided him with clothing as soon as he was able to get up, and though he was still very weak—for his entire body had been subjected to a severe strain —he could walk about the house from room to room, and after a day or two came down stairs to his meals. The doctor’s wife, he learned now, had been called away by the serious illness of her mother, who lived at Syracuse. Her cousin was keeping house for him—‘‘ Cousin,’’ the doctor called her, and Cadwalader found himself more and more dependent upon her. When she was out in the morning to COMICLOOOKSsE