The Man Who Lost HimselfStacpoole, H. De Vere (Henry De Vere)
General
The Man Who Lost Himself
Stacpoole, H. De Vere (Henry De Vere)
Mistaken identity -- Fiction
"Escape--why I heard only an hour ago another of them was out. Gawd help
him if the town folk catch him at any of his tricks, and Gawd help
Hoover. A chap has no right comin' down and settin' up a business like
that in a place like this full of nursemaids and children. People bring
their innercent children down here to play on the sands, and any minit
that place may break loose like a bum-shell. _That's_ not marked down on
the prospectices they publish with pictures done in blue and yaller, and
lies about the air and water, and the salubriarity of the South Coast."
"No, I suppose not," said Jones.
"Well, I must be goin'," said the other, emptying his glass and wiping
his mouth on the back of his hand. "Good night to you."
"Good night."
The upholder of Church and State shuffled out, leaving Jones to his
thoughts. Wind of the business had got about the town, and even at that
moment no doubt people were carefully locking back doors and looking in
out houses.
It was unfortunate that the last man to escape from the Hoover
establishment had been violently inclined, that was the one thing needed
to stimulate Rumour and make her spread.
Having sat for ten minutes longer and consumed another glass of tepid
beer, he took his departure.
Mrs. Henshaw let him in, and having informed her of his journey to the
station, the fruitlessness of his quest, and his opinion of the railway
company, its servants and its methods, he received his candle and went
to bed.
CHAPTER XXVI
A TRAMP, AND OTHER THINGS
He was awakened by a glorious morning, and, looking out of his window,
he saw the street astir in the sunshine, stout men in white flannels
with morning newspapers in their hands, children already on their way to
the beach with spades and buckets, all the morning life of an English
seacoast town in Summer.
Then he dressed. He had no razor, his beard was beginning to show, and
to go about unshaved was impossible to his nature. For a moment the wild
idea of letting his beard grow--that oldest form of disguise--occurred
to him, only to be dismissed immediately. A beard takes a month to grow,
he had neither the time nor the money to do it, nor the inclination.
At breakfast--two kippered herrings and marmalade--he held a council of
war with himself.
Nature has equipped every animal with means for offence and defence. To
man she has given daring, and that strange indifference in cool blood to
danger, when danger has become familiar, which seems the attribute of
man alone.
Jones determined to risk everything, go out, prospect, find some likely
road of escape, and make a bold dash. The eight thousand pounds in the
London Bank shone before him like a galaxy of eight stars; no one knew
of its existence. What he was to do when he had secured it was a matter
for future consideration. Probably he would return right away to the
States.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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