“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.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVI AUSTIN DEMAREST, ACTOR. As Dick settled down on one side of the cozy little table near one of the windows and unfolded his napkin he felt a pleasant glow of satisfaction stealing over him. Short as was their acquaintance, he already felt a distinct liking for the man opposite him, whose handsome face still impressed him with the odd sensation of looking into a mirror and seeing his own countenance reflected there. The fellow was very evidently a gentleman by birth and breeding. That had been plain from the first moment of their unconventional meeting. His manners were unexceptionable, and he had a certain air of polished refinement which was manifest to Merriwell’s keen perception in a dozen unobtrusive ways. But more than all else the Yale man was attracted by the other’s manner of talking. Whimsical, half bantering, almost careless, there was yet about it an undercurrent of seriousness, which gave the barest hint of the real man beneath that disguising mask and made Dick eager for a more thorough knowledge of the character which he felt would prove more interesting by far than that of the majority of men. Demarest picked up the card and ordered luncheon with the swiftness and taste of a connoisseur. He evidently had the rare art of selecting an attractive meal without spending a half hour at it. Then, folding his arms loosely, he leaned forward. “Let’s begin at the beginning,” he said with twinkling eyes. “That sounds a little unnecessary, I know, but so few people really do begin a story where they ought. Probably you’ve noticed it, though. For instance, I am strongly tempted to plunge headfirst into the maelstrom of my troubles, and it is only by a strong effort of will that I bring myself to begin where I ought to lead you gradually thence to a consideration of the worst.”