"I wish I could think so; but I’ve believed so many false yarns on the strength of a man’s manner, and disbelieved so many true ones on the same evidence, that I no longer trust my own judgment. But please don’t be annoyed. If your mental condition is such as you describe, I’m proposing the most scientific treatment you can get in New York. In addition to that, I know that Doctor Glegg has had a number of such cases and has cured them." "You know that?" "Perhaps I ought to say that they’ve been cured while under his care. I think I’ve heard him say that as a matter of fact they’ve cured themselves. Without knowing much of the malady, I rather think it’s one of those in which time restores the ruptured tissues, with the aid of mental rest." "If that’s all—" "Oh, I don’t say that it’s all; but as far as I understand it’s a large part of it. But then I don’t understand very much. That’s why I’m suggesting—" "I could get mental rest of my own accord if—" "Yes? If—what?" "If I could find out who—who I am." "And you’ve no clues at all?" I shook my head. "Have you heard no names that were familiar to you—?" "Scores of them; but none with which I could connect myself." "And did you think I could find out for you what you yourself have not been able to discover?" "I didn’t know but what you might have means." "What means could I have? As far as I’ve ever heard, the only way of tracing a lost man is through the police—with detectives—and publicity—descriptions in the papers—photographs thrown on screens—that sort of thing. I don’t think there’s any other way." I took perhaps two minutes, perhaps three, to ponder these possibilities. In the end they seemed to magnify my misfortune. "Then, sir, that’s all you can do for me?" "Remember that I should be doing a great deal if I got you to put yourself under Doctor Glegg." "In the free psychopathic ward of a sanitarium for diseases of the brain—to be watched." "To be under observation. There’s a difference." "All the observation in the world wouldn’t tell Doctor Glegg more than I’m telling you now." "Oh yes, it would. It would tell him—it would tell me—you must excuse me, you know—but the situation obliges me to speak frankly—it would tell him—it would tell me—whether or not your story is a true one." "So you don’t believe me?" "How can I believe you on the strength of this one interview?" "But how could I convince you in a dozen interviews?" "You couldn’t. Nothing would convince me but something in the way of outside proof—or Doctor Glegg’s report." I rose, not as I did before, but slowly, and I hoped with dignity. "Then I see no reason, sir, for taking your time any longer—" He too rose, business-like, imperturbable. "My dear young man, I must leave that to you. My time is entirely at your disposal and all my good-will." "Thanks."