ant
voyage on a summer Atlantic, and that nice young American couple whose
acquaintance he made before they passed Sandy Hook, every penny of
whose cash had been stolen on board, and how he had financed them,
careless of his own ready cash. And how then, not being sure if he
should go to London or to Manchester, he decided on the former, and
wired his New York banker to send him credit, prompt, at the bank he
named in London; and then Livermore's Rents, 1808, and the joy of the
cabman; and then the Twopenny Tube; and then Sally. He tried what he
could towards putting in order what followed, but could determine
nothing except that he stooped for the half-crown, and something
struck him a heavy blow. Thereupon he was immediately a person, or a
confusion, sitting alone in a cab, to whom a lady came whom he thought
he knew, and to this lady he wanted to say, "Is that you?" for no
reason he could now trace, but found he could scarcely articulate.

Recalling everything thus, to the full, he was able to supply links
in the story that we have found no place for so far. For instance,
the loss of a small valise on the boat that contained credentials that
would have made it quite unnecessary for him to cable to New York for
credit, and also an incident this reminded him of--that he had not
only parted with most of his cash to the young Americans, but had
given his purse to the lady to keep her share of it in, saying he had
a very good cash pocket, and would have plenty of time to buy another,
whereas _they_ were hurrying through to catch the tidal boat for
Calais. This accounted for that little new pocket-book without a card
in it that had given no information at all. He could remember having
made so free with his cards on the boat and in the train that he had
only one left when he got to Euston.

He found himself, as the hours passed, better and better able to dream
and speculate about the life he now chose to imagine was Harrisson's
property, not his; and the more so the more he felt the force of the
barrier drawn across the earlier part of it. Had the barrier remained
intact, he might ultimately have convinced himself, for all practical
purposes, that Harrisson's life was all dream. Yes, all a dream! The
cold and the gold of the Klondyke, the French Canadians at Ontario,
four years on a cattle-ranch in California, five of unsuccessful
attempts to practise at the American Bar--all, all a dream of another
man named Harrisson, d