o himself that he wished to the Lord he knew this man's name to
be able to call him by it--but of course it couldn't be helped.

"I have concluded to permit you to attend to these matters for me--get
through them the best you can in your own way without bothering me with
them; do just as you would if I were away on a vacation, we will say,
and left everything in your charge--all matters for you to settle as you
deemed best."

The gentleman looked surprised and bowed gravely. "I can attend to most
of the documents connected with the firm, but there are a few matters I
see there that the parties interested might object to if they saw the
name of Manager Wright attached instead of the name of the proprietor."

"In that case, show me where you want me to sign, and I'll put down my
name here and now, to end the matter."

"Without first examining the documents carefully?" asked the manager, in
amazement, thinking how slipshod in his business methods the new
proprietor of the great establishment was becoming since he suddenly
found himself raised from a poor cashier to a multi-millionaire, and
thinking that good old Mr. Marsh would turn over in his grave if he had
heard that.

"Thank Heaven all that is off my mind," muttered Kendale, breathing
freer as the manager left the office with the papers, adding,
thoughtfully: "I hope I won't have to come in contact with that man very
often. I felt so uncomfortable that it was by the greatest effort I
could control myself--keep from springing from my chair, seizing my hat
and fairly flying out of this place.

"His keen gray eyes seemed to pierce through and through me. I expected
every moment to hear him shout out: 'Come hither, everybody--quickly;
this man is not Lester Armstrong, striking though the resemblance is.
Send for the police, that this mystery may be solved at once!'"

He was not far wrong in his suspicions.

Manager Wright had quitted the private office with a deeply knitted brow
and a troubled expression on his face.

"The change in Lester Armstrong since yesterday is amazing," he mused.
"Long years of dissipation could not have told more on him than the
change these few hours have worked. He must have been out drinking and
carousing all night long--the odor of the room from the fumes of strong
liquor was almost unbearable; it was blue with smoke, too, and Lester
Armstrong always led us to believe that he had never smoked a cigar in
his life; and, worst of all,