ILLUSTRATIONS

Instantly he was aware of the descent upon him of a fiery comet
of femininity . . . . . . Frontispiece

She seemed to emanate from the tiger-skin as a butterfly from the chrysalis

A new thrill ran through the man and a new light came into his eyes.

Vast and complete was the system of notes built up by the professor
and the judge

There she sits so attentive to her book that his entrance has not attracted
her notice

Soon their heads were close together over plans

"Those red ones," said the judge, "are the very devil for showing on black!"

"I am taking Miss Waldron home," said Mr. Amidon

The Persons of the Story:

FLORIAN AMIDON, a respectable young banker of literary and artistic tastes.

EUGENE BRASSFIELD, for a description of whose peculiarities the reader is referred to the text.

ELIZABETH WALDRON, a young woman just out of school.

JUDGE BLODGETT, an elderly lawyer.

MADAME LE CLAIRE, a professional occultist.

PROFESSOR BLATHERWICK, her father, a German scientist.

DAISY SCARLETT, a young woman of fervid complexion and a character to match.

EDGINGTON AND COX, lawyers.

ALVORD, a man about a small town.

AARON, a Sudanese serving-man.

MRS. PUMPHREY,              )
MISS SMITH,                       )
DOCTOR JULIA BROWN,    )   Members of the elite of Bellevale.
MRS. ALVORD,                    )
MRS. MEYER,                      )

MRS. HUNTER, of Hazelhurst.

MR. SLATER,                       )
MR. BULLIWINKLE,            )   Prominent male residents of Bellevale.
MR. STEVENS,                     )
MR. KNAGGS,                      )

SHEEHAN,                            )   Labor leaders.
ZALINSKY,                           )

CONLON, a contractor.

CLERKS, STENOGRAPHERS, SERVANTS, POLITICIANS, WAITERS, MEMBERS OF THE A. O. C. M., PORTERS, AND CITIZENS ON FOOT AND IN CARRIAGES.

SCENE: In Hazelhurst, Wisconsin; New York City, and Bellevale, Pennsylvania. [N. B.—It might be anywhere else in these states, east or west.]

TIME: From June, 1896, to March, 1901—but this is not insisted upon.

DOUBLE TROUBLE

I

A SLEEP AND A FORGETTING

Deep in the Well where blushing hides the shrinking
and Naked Truth,
I have dived, and dared to fetch ensnared this Fragment
of tested Sooth;
And one of the purblind Race of Men peered with a curious Eye
Over the Curb as I fetched it forth, and besought me
to drop that Lie:
But all ye who long for Certitude, and who yearn for the
Ultimate Fact,
Who know the Truth and in spite of Ruth tear piecemeal
the Inexact,
Come list to my Lay that I sing to-day, and choose betwixt
him and me,
And choosing show that ye always know the Lie from the Veritee!
—The Rime of the Sheeted Spoorn.

"Baggs," said Mr. Amidon, "take things entirely into your own hands. I'm off."

"All right," said Baggs. "It's only a day's run to Canada; but in case I should prove honest, and need to hear from you, you'll leave your address?"

Mr. Amidon[1] frowned and made a gesture expressive of nervousness.

"No," said he, in a high-pitched and querulous tone. "No! I want to see if this business owns me, or if I own it. Why should you need to communicate with me? Whenever I'm off a day you always sign everything; and I shall be gone but a day on any given date this time; so it's only the usual thing, after all. I shall not leave any address; and don't look for me until I step in at that door! Good-by."

And he walked out of the bank, went home, and began looking over for the last time his cameras, films, tripods and the other paraphernalia of his fad.

"This habit of running off alone, Florian," said Mrs. Baggs, his sister, housekeeper, general manager, and the wife of Baggs—his confidential clerk and silent partner—"gives me an uneasy feeling. If you had only done as I wanted you to do, you'd have had some one——"

"Now, Jennie," said he, "we have settled that question a dozen times, and we can't go over it again if I am to catch the 4:48 train. Keep your eye on the men, and keep Baggs up in the collar, and see that Wilkes and Ranger get their just dues. I must have rest, Jennie; and as for the wife, why, there'll be more some day for this purely speculative family of yours if we—— By the way, there's the whistle at Anderson's crossing. Good-by, my dear!"

On the 4:48 train, at least until it had aged into the 7:30 or 8:00, Mr. Florian Amidon, banker, and most attractive unmarried man of Hazelhurst, was not permitted to forget that his going away was an important event. The fact that he was rich, from the viewpoint of the little mid-western town, unmarried and attractive, easily made his doings important, had nothing remarkable followed. But he had exceptional points as a person of consequence, aside from these. His father had been a scholar, and his mother so much of a grande dame as to have old worm-eaten silks and laces with histories. The Daughters of the American Revolution always went to the Amidons for ancient toggery for their eighteenth-century costumes—and checks for their deficits. The family even had a printed genealogy. Moreover, Florian had been at the head of his class in the high school, had gone through the family alma mater in New England, and been finished in Germany. Hazelhurst, therefore, looked on him as a possession, and thought it knew him.

We, however, may confide to the world that Hazelhurst knew only his outer husk, and that Mr. Amidon was inwardly