Evening star., 1927-04-24

Of profound slumber. Unfortunately,
they only endured for a few seconds
or few minutes, and though serving
to place him in endless dangerous,
ridiculous and awkward situations, did
not amount to anything approaching
a 'Iiving wage" of seep-rarely to
more than an hour in the twenty-four
and generally to much less
At times he was, for a few hours
perhaps, entirely normal, to all ap-
pearances. and could talk, behave and
transact business in such a way that
no casual observer would be aware
Of anything unusual in the man.
He, himself, however, when at his
best, was still aware of the isolating
medium in which he moved and lived
and had his being; the slowly thick
ening cloud that shut him in and cut
him off with increasing certainty and
speed.
What would happen when he could
no longer pierce and penetrate this fog
and could hold no communication with
the outer world? Was he becoming an
idiot before becoming a paralytic?
On arrival at Charing Cross he had
strolled idly through the streets of
London slept on a bench in Leicester
Square; had thought he was in the
public gardens at Sidi-abel-A Abbes, and
hoped that the Legion's famous band
would come and play it's sad music in
that sad place, and being moved on"
had wandered away dazed and be-
wildered, going on and on until he
reached Hammersmith. Here he found
his way into one of those poor mans
hotels, A Rowton House--.vaguely
under the impression that it was some
kind of barrack.
Here he had a glorious time of
rest, broken only by the occasional
misfortune Of having nights sleep,
or rather, a nightmare. At the Ham
mersmith Rowton House he became
an object of the intensest interest to
such of his fellow inhabitants of that
abode of semi.starvation and hopeless
misery as were not too deeply engulf
ed in their own struggle with despair
and death to notice anything at all.
For "William Jones" began to bios
som forth into a "toff," perfect dook,
until it was the generally accepted
theory that he was a swell-mobsman
just out of gaol and now working
the West End in the correct garb Of
that locality.
Little by little the man had re-
placed his old clothes by new, his
beret by correct hat, his scarf by
the usual neckwear of an English
gentleman, his mufti by a Conduit
Street creation his rough boots by
the most modish of cloth-topped kid,
and generally metamorphosed. will
liam Jones'" late of the Foreign
Legion, into Godfrey Brabazon.
Howard, esq, late of St. James Street
and the United Service Club.
In one Of his hours of mental clarity
and vigor he had called at his bank
and drawn the sum of C 80, left at cur
rent account there when he disap-
peared into the Legion. and in another
such hour, and in his new clothes, he
had called at his club, seen the secre.
tary and arranged for the revival of
his lapsed membership.
1t had taken both the bank manager
and the secretary some time to recog-
nize him, but they had done so even
tually, and had been shocked to think
of what the man must have been
through to have changed as he had
and to look as he did.
He had been through a great deal.
In addition to the very real hardShipS
of campaigning in the Sahara as pri-
vate of the Legion, he had had fever,
had been wounded in the abdomen by
an Arab lance, carried away by the
Arabs while unconscious from loss of
blood from this wound, and kept until
he should recover consciousness and
be eligible for torture. ut Is pointleSs
to torture practically dead person.)
The severity of his would had saved
his life, for by the time he had suff1-
ciently recovered to be interesting to his
captors they were attacked and rout-
ed, and William Jones" had been re-