The Amateur | Page 9

the doctor's nerve tonic
and sleeping draughts, and a little innocent diversion. To- night I am
going to take you to the Savoy to supper."
Mrs. Ashton exclaimed delightedly, and then was filled with
misgivings.
"I have nothing to wear," she protested, "and over here, in the evening,
the women dress so well. I have a dinner gown," she exclaimed, "but
it's black. Would that do?"
Ford assured her nothing could be better. He had a man's vanity in
liking a woman with whom he was seen in public to be pretty and
smartly dressed, and he felt sure that in black the blond beauty of Mrs.
Ashton would appear to advantage. They arranged to meet at eleven on
the promenade leading to the Savoy supper-room, and parted with
mutual satisfaction at the prospect.
The finding of Harry Ashton was so simple that in its very simplicity it
appeared spectacular.
On leaving Mrs. Ashton, Ford engaged rooms at the Hotel Cecil.
Before visiting his rooms he made his way to the American bar. He did
not go there seeking Harry Ashton. His object was entirely self-centred.
His purpose was to drink to himself and to the lights of London. But as
though by appointment, the man he had promised to find was waiting
for him. As Ford entered the room, at a table facing the door sat Ashton.
There was no mistaking him. He wore a mustache, but it was no
disguise. He was the same good- natured, good-looking youth who, in
the photograph from under a Panama hat, had smiled upon the world.
With a glad cry Ford rushed toward him.
"Fancy meeting YOU!" he exclaimed.
Mr. Ashton's good-natured smile did not relax. He merely shook his
head.
"Afraid you have made a mistake," he said. The reporter regarded him
blankly. His face showed his disappointment.

"Aren't you Charles W. Garrett, of New York?" he demanded.
"Not me," said Mr. Ashton.
"But," Ford insisted in hurt tones, as though he were being trifled with,
"you have been told you look like him, haven't you?"
Mr. Ashton's good nature was unassailable.
"Sorry," he declared, "never heard of him."
Ford became garrulous, he could not believe two men could look so
much alike. It was a remarkable coincidence. The stranger must
certainly have a drink, the drink intended for his twin. Ashton was
bored, but accepted. He was well acquainted with the easy
good-fellowship of his countrymen. The room in which he sat was a
meeting-place for them. He considered that they were always giving
each other drinks, and not only were they always introducing
themselves, but saying, "Shake hands with my friend, Mr. So-and- So."
After five minutes they showed each other photographs of the children.
This one, though as loquacious as the others, seemed better dressed,
more "wise"; he brought to the exile the atmosphere of his beloved
Broadway, so Ashton drank to him pleasantly.
"My name is Sydney Carter," he volunteered.
As a poker-player skims over the cards in his hand, Ford, in his mind's
eye, ran over the value of giving or not giving his right name. He
decided that Ashton would not have heard it and that, if he gave a false
one, there was a chance that later Ashton might find out that he had
done so. Accordingly he said, "Mine is Austin Ford," and seated
himself at Ashton's table. Within ten minutes the man he had promised
to pluck from among the eight million inhabitants of London was
smiling sympathetically at his jests and buying a drink.
On the steamer Ford had rehearsed the story with which, should he
meet Ashton, he would introduce himself. It was one arranged to fit
with his theory that Ashton was a crook. If Ashton were a crook Ford
argued that to at once ingratiate himself in his good graces he also must
be a crook. His plan was to invite Ashton to co-operate with him in
some scheme that was openly dishonest. By so doing he hoped
apparently to place himself at Ashton's mercy. He believed if he could
persuade Ashton he was more of a rascal than Ashton himself, and an
exceedingly stupid rascal, any distrust the bookmaker might feel
toward him would disappear. He made his advances so openly, and

apparently showed his hand so carelessly, that, from being bored,
Ashton became puzzled, then interested; and when Ford insisted he
should dine with him, he considered it so necessary to find out who the
youth might be who was forcing himself upon him that he accepted the
invitation.
They adjourned to dress and an hour later, at Ford's suggestion, they
met at the Carlton. There Ford ordered a dinner calculated to lull his
newly made friend into a mood suited to confidence, but which had on
Ashton