The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1897-04-18


tude at the window. He watched the
doctor as he wrote out a prescription on
neat little pad and rang for messenger
boy to take it to the nearest drugstore.
The doctors cool white fingers futtered
for moment over his wrist.
| Nervous system shattered" he MUIR
INJURED to himself. Then perfunctorily to
his patient: Five grains of my prescrip-
ton will, no doubt, alleviate your pain
and you will sleep. If not better in
powder. By tomorrow morning you will
| be able TO leave your room and take
stroll in the Easter sunshine. Good-by."
The doctor pulled on pair Of handsome
gloves. smiled benevolently at his patient
and was gone.
| Frederick Wynne sat quietly for awhile
with closed eyes. Then he turned and
| looked out of the window of his hand
some hotel suite. He expected every
minute to see the messenger-boy thread
ing his way through the line of vehicles
and streetcars carrying the tiny parcel In
his hand. But his head was aching
frightJully and his vision was obscured.
The wind sifted in through an open Win
dow, butfeted the lace curtains and sent a
newspaper flying from the table over the
soft, rich carpet
Everything about this young man be-
tokened wealth. His wardrobe was fine
enough for the best. The elderly father
in an Eastern city supplied him with
money freely, and had sent him on trip
around the world. Yet Frederick Wynne
believed himself to be the most wretched
creature in the world tonight The doc
tor had skillfully evaded the fact that be
was suffering from prolonged debauch.
But, physically weak and morally de-
graded he could not hide his own humili-
alton. He pulled at his thin mustache
and the respiration stood out on his
forehead The pail in his head was mad
dening now. Where was the messenger
boy and the healing draught2
Under the influence Of strong excite
ment he rushed into the street. He had
dim idea that he should meet him and
wrest the soothing powder from him. 1t
was almost dark, and the City was fast
becoming enveloped in fog. He was
conscious of the sudden flaming out of the
electric lights across the dark path of
evening, of men and women who walked
in the streets, but who were as impal.
pabIe as air to his unsteady hands and
deaf 10 his impotent cries. Then he knew
no more.
The first momen.-it was days after
ward-that Frederick Wynne could con-
sciously connect with his past life
came to him one evening as he was stand
ing on a street corner. He was listening,
with q group of men and boys. to the
snowy oratory of a ward politician. The
intermittent glare OF light from an arc
lamp lit up the rugged features and lent
an unnatural palIor TO the uplifted faces.
The husky voice that proceeded from the
man upon the temporary platform alter
nately wheedled and ridiculed. Every
now and then there was a burst of ap-
plause from the listeners, and hats were
thrown into the air. Wynne reached for
his own, with an enthusiasm borrowed
from the crowd. As he lifted it he was
conscious of q tender spot upon his head.
Just then the orator burst forth into his
pero-aton. He shouted: From Occi-
dent 10 Orient, from frigid north to sunny
SOUTH Wynne waited to hear no more.
"Occident, Occident," he rnurmured
vaguely in the ears of the jostling crowd.
Curious eyes were turned for moment
on the shrinking figure, and good
natured laugh issued from the men.
Wynne needed it not. He was grasping
at some elusive fact, as he STUN bled on.
The speakers words Rad called 10 mind
the name of his hotel, from which he
must have lost his way while out walking.
| By dint of much inquiring he found his
way to the hostelry, which was brilliantly
alight. He walked directly to the office.
THE key TO my room, please" The
voice was quiet and gentlemanly, but the
clerk eyed him with suspicion.
"What is your name and the number of
your room?"
Wynne's attitude was one of extreme
detection. He stood leaning weakly
against the desk. He put his hand to his
lead.
81 don't seem to remember" he said
slowly as ii trying to grasp at half-for-
gotten things. Perhaps it will come to
me''
''Oh. probably" said the clerk. with a
cynical smile. Meanwhile you had bet
ter 60 outside and walk up and down a
bit. It will refresh your memory"
Much disturbed Wynne turned to obey.
On mis- way to the door he passed large
plate.glass mirror, one of the snowy en-
W VIC OihNc. 1A0 SdZeu III
mute astonisbment at the figure reflected
therein. There was an old hat on his head
that might have been picked from the
refuse of an ash barrel. He was without
coat, and hi, shirt sleeves were ragged
and his trousers frayed at the bottom. A
heavy growth of beard adorned his face.
He raised one dirty hand after another
he clutched at the air with his fingers,
that he might be sure tina. the reflection
was his own. The man in the mirror
made similar movements and Wynne
turned away with a feeling of revulsion.
He was too weak to understand it. Per-
haps it had been only a beautiful dream
that he had once belonged to rich and
influential family. He felt faint; he
would buy food and when stronger he
could solve the mystery. He felt for his
purse. 1t was not there.
He stole out into the night again. The
air was chill and penetrating, but he
hardly thought of physical discomfort as
be wandered slowly down the street. He
crept into the shadow cast by the naphtha
torch OF an Italian fruit-vender. The
odor OF roasting nuts ana popping corn
came gratefully to his nostrils. The
streets had grown quieter, but lights
glowed defantly from gilded palaces, and
gay music ioated out from dancehalls.