e Jack the Ripper. Better let it slide,
mate; let the dead past bury its dead. Start fresh with a clean sheet."

"But I don't even know my name, or whether I'm married or not," whined
the outcast. "I might have a good wife and little ones."

"Better keep on forgetting, mate," Mitchell said, "and as for a name,
that's nothing. I don't know mine, and I've had eight. There's plenty
good names knocking round. I knew a man named Jim Smith that died. Take
his name, it just suits you, and he ain't likely to call round for it;
if he does, you can say you was born with it."

So they called him Smith, and soon began to regard him as a harmless
lunatic and to take no notice of his eccentricities. Great interest was
taken in the case for a time, and even Mitchell put in his oar and
tried all sorts of ways to assist the Mystery in his weak, helpless,
and almost pitiful endeavours to recollect who he was. A similar case
happened to appear in the papers at this time, and the thing caught on
to such an extent that The Oracle was moved to impart some advice from
his store of wisdom.

"I wouldn't think too much over it if I was you," said he to Mitchell,
"hundreds of sensible men went mad over that there Tichborne case who
didn't have anything to do with it, but just through thinking on it; and
you're ratty enough already, Jack. Let it alone and trust me to find out
who's Smith just as soon as ever we cut out."

Meanwhile Smith ate, worked, and slept, and borrowed tobacco and forgot
to return it--which was made a note of. He talked freely about his case
when asked, but if he addressed anyone, it was with the air of the timid
but good young man, who is fully aware of the extent and power of this
world's wickedness, and stands somewhat in awe of it, but yet would
beg you to favour a humble worker in the vineyard by kindly accepting a
tract, and passing it on to friends after perusal.

One Saturday morning, about a fortnight before cut out, The Oracle came
late to his stand, and apparently with something on his mind. Smith
hadn't turned up, and the next rouseabout was doing his work, to the
mutual dissatisfaction of all parties immediately concerned.

"Did you see anything of Smith?" asked Mitchell of The Oracle. "Seems to
have forgot to get up this morning."

Tom looked disheartened and disappointed. _"He's forgot again_," said
he, slowly and impressively.

"Forgot what? We know he's blessed well forgot to come to graft."

"He