The sun on Park Row. Hurrying mortals, from a thousand offices, the sidewalks, their with the of lunch. Up and the of Nassau Street the moved more slowly. Candy-selling newsboys, and dray-horses to the best of their ability not to the their hooves. Eastward, pressing on to the City Hall, the army of happy lovers on their way to marriage-licenses. Men in and out of the like rabbits. It was a stirring, scene, of this nerve-centre of New York's body.
Jimmy Crocker, in the doorway, the enviously. There were men in that who gum, there were men who white with diamond stick-pins, there were men who, having seven-tenths of a cigar, were the remainder: but there was not one with he would not at that moment have identities. For these men had jobs. And in his present of mind it to him that no was needed for the of the bliss.
The has said some very and about the man "whose has ne'er him as home his he has from on some strand," but he might have Jimmy for just then not so much a of as a cold and of dismay. He would have had to admit that the "High though his titles, proud his name, his as wish can claim" did not apply to Jimmy Crocker. The may have been "concentred all on self," but his of one hundred and thirty-three and and his name was so from being proud that the of it in the of the New York Sunday Chronicle, the record-room of which he had just been visiting, had him the that he had it to Bayliss the most act of his career.
The for Jimmy's of as he the of his native land visible from his is not to seek. The Atlantic had on Saturday night, and Jimmy, having to an excellent hotel and an room therein, had left at the that should be to him at ten o'clock and with it the Sunday issue of the Chronicle. Five years had passed since he had the dear old for which he had reported so many fires, murders, street-accidents, and weddings: and he looked to its as a taking of his long-neglected country. Nothing be more and than that the of his return to America should him up in reading the good old Chronicle. Among his final as he off to sleep was a as to who was City now and the was still the of the Doughnut family.
A of not passed over him on the as he out for the paper. The sky-line of New York, as the comes up the bay, has its points, and the of the Elevated and the of the Subway a welcome, but the thing that the returned that he is on Manhattan Island is the Sunday paper. Jimmy, like every one else, by opening the supplement: and as he it a discomfort, almost a of evil, came upon him. The Doughnut Family was no more. He that it was of him to as if he had just been of the death of a dear friend, for Pa Doughnut and his had been having their five years he had left the country, and the hero for a decade: but the did upon his optimism, and he no from the of a called Old Pop Dill-Pickle who was offered as a substitute.
But this, he was to almost immediately, was a disaster. It him, but it did not affect his material welfare. Tragedy when he to the magazine section. Scarcely had he started to at it when this him like a bullet:
PICCADILLY JIM AT IT AGAIN
And it his own name.
Nothing is so of as the we on our name in print. We may to the or we may to the depths. Jimmy did the latter. A of the article the that it was no eulogy. With an hand the had muck-raked his past, the text on which he his being that ill-fated with Lord Percy Whipple at the Six Hundred Club. This the had at a length and with a which Bill Blake's in the London Daily Sun. Bill Blake had been by of space and the that he had in his copy at an hour when the paper was almost up. The present was by no restrictions. He had of room to spread himself in, and he had spread himself. So had been the editor's views in the respect that, in to the letter-press, the pages an picture of a man in an condition of his to a in dress who had so little that Jimmy was that he had been able to it. The only of that he in this was the that the artist had Lord Percy more than himself. Among other things, the second son of the Duke of Devizes was as a coronet—a thing which would have in a London night-club.
Jimmy read the thing through in its three times he a which his mind had at failed to grasp—to wit, that this character-sketch of himself was no but one of a series. In places the to other on the same subject.
Jimmy's on its tray, untouched. That which the gods so bestow, of ourselves as others see us, had been to him in full measure. By the time he had his third reading he was himself in a purely fashion not the of a some and of life. So this was the of he was! He they had let him in at a hotel.
The of the day he passed in a of such that he have when the waiters were to him. On the Monday he his way to Park Row to read the of the Chronicle—a enterprise, to the of those of Baal who themselves with or of who subscribe to press-clipping agencies.
He came upon another of the articles almost at once, in an issue not a month old. Then there was a of weeks, and that might not be as as he had feared—only to be by another screed. After that he set about his methodically, to know the worst. He it in just under two hours. There it all was—his with the bookie, his at the political meeting, his breach-of-promise case. It was a complete biography.
And the name they called him. Piccadilly Jim! Ugh!
He out into Park Row, and a where he upon these matters.
It was not that the practical or financial of the came to him. For an time he in his self-esteem alone. It to him that all these who passed him, that they were at him and laughing derisively, that those who it and that those who ate their ate them with thinly-veiled and scorn. Then, the passage of time sensitiveness, he that there were other and to consider.
As as he had had any plan of action in his casting-off of the flesh-pots of London, he had as soon as possible after landing to report at the office of his old paper and apply for his position. So little had he to the of his plans that it had not to him that he had anything to do but walk in, the on the back, and that he was to work. Work!—on the staff of a paper appeared to be the of his escapades! Even had he the courage—or gall—to make the application, what good would it be? He was a by-word in a world where he had once been a citizen. What paper would trust Piccadilly Jim with an assignment? What paper would Piccadilly Jim on space rates? A over him. He to the voice of Bayliss the speaking in his car as he had spoken so a while at Paddington Station.
"Is it not a little rash, Mr. James?"
Rash was the word. Here he stood, in a country that had no possible use for him, a country where was and jobs for the infrequent. What on earth was there that he do?
Well, he go home. . . . No, he couldn't. His at that solution. Prodigal Son was all very well in its way, but it its if you up again at home two after you had left. A among the and was essential. Besides, there was his father to consider. He might be a of a fellow, as the Sunday Chronicle passim, but he was not so as to come to for his father just when he had done the only thing by himself. No, that was out of the question.
What remained? The air of New York is and healthy, but a man cannot live on it. Obviously he must a job. But what job?
What he do?
A in the region of the answered the question. The solution—which it put was, it was true, but a temporary one, yet it to Jimmy. He had it at many crises. He would go and lunch, and it might be that food would inspiration.
He moved from his and to the entrance of the subway. He a timely express, and a minutes later into the again at Grand Central. He his way along Forty-second Street to the hotel which he would meet his needs. He had entered it when in a chair by the door he Ann Chester, and at the of her all his and he was himself again.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Bayliss? Are you here?"
"Unless there is some other place that you would prefer," said Jimmy. "I I haven't you waiting."
Ann laughed. She was looking very in something soft and green.
"I'm not going to with you. I'm waiting for Mr. Ralstone and his sister. Do you him? He over with us. His chair was next to mine on the deck."
Jimmy was shocked. When he how she had escaped, girl, from with that Teddy—or was it Edgar?—he weak. Recovering himself, he spoke firmly.
"When were they to have met you?"
"At one o'clock."
"It is now five past. You are not going to wait any longer. Come with me, and we will for cabs."
"Don't be absurd!"
"Come along. I want to talk to you about my future."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Ann, rising. She with him to the door. "Teddy would me." She got into the cab. "It's only you have to me to help you discuss your future," she said, as they off. "Nothing else would have me . . ."
"I know," said Jimmy. "I that I on your sympathy. Where shall we go?"
"Where do you want to go? Oh, I that you have been in New York before. By the way, what are your of our country?"
"Most gratifying, if only I a job."
"Tell him to drive to Delmonico's. It's just around the on Forty-fourth Street."
"There are some the corner, then?"
"That cryptic. What do you mean."
"You've our that night on the ship. You to admit the of just the corner. You said some very that night. About love, if you remember."
"You can't be going to talk about love at one o'clock in the afternoon! Talk about your future."
"Love is mixed up with my future."
"Not with your future. I you said that you were trying to a job. Have you up the idea of newspaper work, then?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, I'm glad."
The up at the restaurant door, and the was interrupted. When they were seated at their table and Jimmy had an order to the waiter of extravagance, Ann returned to the topic.
"Well, now the thing is to something for you to do."
Jimmy looked the restaurant with eyes. The from New York was still distant, and the place was full of prosperous-looking lunchers, not one of appeared to have a or an bill in the world. The was of bank-balances. Solvency from the closely of the men and itself in the of the women. Jimmy sighed.
"I so," he said. "Though for choice I'd like to be one of the Idle Rich. To my mind the is into the office and the old for another thousand."
Ann was severe.
"You me!" she said. "I anything so disgraceful. You need work!"
"One of these days," said Jimmy plaintively, "I shall be by the with my dinner-pail, and you will come by in your limousine, and I shall look up at you and say 'You me into this!' How will you then?"
"Very proud of myself."
"In that case, there is no more to be said. I'd much about and try to by a millionaire, but if you on my working—Waiter!"
"What do you want?" asked Ann.
"Will you me a Classified Telephone Directory," said Jimmy.
"What for?" asked Ann.
"To look for a profession. There is nothing like being methodical."
The waiter returned, a red book. Jimmy thanked him and opened it at the A's.
"The boy, what will he become?" he said. He the pages. "How about an Auditor? What do you think of that?"
"Do you think you audit?"
"That I not say till I had tried. I might turn out to be very good at it. How about an Adjuster?"
"An of what?"
"The book doesn't say. It just broadly—in a of way—'Adjuster.' I take it that, having to an adjuster, you then and decide what you wish to adjust. One might, for example, an Asparagus Adjuster."
"A what?"
"Surely you know? Asparagus Adjusters are the who sell those rope-and-pulley by means of which the Smart Set into their mouths—or Francis the it for them, of course. The in his chair, and the the in the background. It is the old-fashioned method of the vegetable up and taking a at it. But I that to be a successful Asparagus Adjuster capital. We now come to Awning Crank and Spring Rollers. I don't think I should like that. Rolling to me a sorry way of life's springtime. Let's try the B's."
"Let's try this omelette. It looks delicious." Jimmy his head.
"I will toy with it—but and in a manner, as a man of affairs. There's nothing in the B's. I might my to Bar-Room Glassware and Bottlers' Supplies. On the other hand, I might not. Similarly, while there is no a for somebody in Celluloid, Fiberloid, and Other Factitious Goods, tells me that there is none for—" he up on the of saying, "James Braithwaite Crocker," and at the of the pitfall. "—for—" he again—"for Algernon Bayliss," he concluded.
Ann delightedly. It was so that his father should have called him something like that. Time had not her for the old man she had for that moment at Paddington Station. He was an old dear, and she of this latest of his in his offspring.
"Is that your name—Algernon?"
"I cannot it."
"I think your father is a darling," said Ann inconsequently.
Jimmy had himself in the again.
"The D's," he said. "Is it possible that will know me as Bayliss the Dermatologist? Or as Bayliss the Drop Forger? I don't like that last one. It may be a occupation, but it to me. The for is about twenty years with hard labour."
"I wish you would put that book away and go on with your lunch," said Ann.
"Perhaps," said Jimmy, "my will my some day and say in their piping, voices, 'Tell us how you the Elastic Stocking King, grandpa!' What do you think?"
"I think you ought to be of yourself. You are your time, when you ought to be either talking to me or else very about what you to do."
Jimmy was the pages rapidly.
"I will be with you in a moment," he said. "Try to somehow till I am at leisure. Ask a riddle. Tell an anecdote. Think of life. No, it's no good. I don't see myself as a Fan Importer, a Glass Beveller, a Hotel Broker, an Insect Exterminator, a Junk Dealer, a Kalsomine Manufacturer, a Laundryman, a Mausoleum Architect, a Nurse, an Oculist, a Paper-Hanger, a Quilt Designer, a Roofer, a Ship Plumber, a Tinsmith, an Undertaker, a Veterinarian, a Wig Maker, an X-ray manufacturer, a Yeast producer, or a Zinc Spelter." He closed the book. "There is only one thing to do. I must in the gutter. Tell me—you know New York than I do—where is there a good gutter?"
At this moment there entered the restaurant an Immaculate Person. He was a man in clothes, with shoes of and a perfectly in his buttonhole. He the room through a monocle. He was a to look upon, but Jimmy, of him, started and no at all; for he had him. It was a man he well and who him well—a man he had last a two ago at the Bachelors' Club in London. Few are in this world, but one was that, if Bartling—such was the Vision's name—should see him, he would come over and address him as Crocker. He himself to the of being Bayliss, the whole Bayliss, and nothing but Bayliss. It might be that would him through. After all, Reggie Bartling was a man of intellect, who in anything.
The its sweep. It rested on Jimmy's profile.
"By Gad!" said the Vision.
Reginald Bartling had in New York that morning, and already the of a city had to him. He had come over on a visit of pleasure, his suit-case with of introduction, but these he had not yet used. There was a of home-sickness upon him, and he for a pal. And there him sat Jimmy Crocker, one of the best. He to the table.
"I say, Crocker, old chap, I didn't know you were over here. When did you arrive?"
Jimmy was that he had this in time to be prepared for him. Suddenly in this fashion, he would have himself by of his name. But, having the visitation, he was able to say a whole to Ann himself aware that it was he who was addressed.
"I say! Jimmy Crocker!"
Jimmy one of the of modern times. He looked at Ann. Then he looked at Bartling again.
"I think there's some mistake," he said. "My name is Bayliss."
Before his the Bartling wilted. It was a perfectly likeness, but it was to him when what he had and read about came to him. He was confused. He blushed. It was going up to a perfect like this and you him. Probably the he was some of a or something. It was rotten! He to till one have him to the ankles. He away, in mutters. Jimmy was not to the of his acquaintance's position; he Reggie and his to good well to him to the other's at having spoken to a to he had been introduced; but any other course. However Reggie's might and Reggie's nights might as a result of this encounter, he was prepared to it out on those lines if it took all summer. And, anyway, it was good for Reggie to a like that every once in a while. Kept him and lively.
So thinking, he to Ann again, while the Bartling off to his nerve to their normal at some other hostelry. He Ann at him, wide and parted.
"Odd, that!" he with a light which he and of which he would not have himself capable. "I I must be somebody's double. What was the name he said?"
"Jimmy Crocker!" Ann.
Jimmy his glass, sipped, and put it down.
"Oh yes, I remember. So it was. It's a thing, too, that it familiar. I've the name somewhere."
"I was talking about Jimmy Crocker on the ship. That on deck."
Jimmy looked at her doubtfully.
"Were you? Oh yes, of course. I've got it now. He is the man you so."
Ann was still looking at him as if he had a into something new and strange.
"I you aren't going to let the you against me?" said Jimmy. "Some are Jimmy Crockers, others have Jimmy Crockers upon them. I you'll in mind that I to the class."
"It's such an thing."
"Oh, I don't know. You often of doubles. There was a man in England a years ago who sent to prison for some who to look like him had done."
"I don't that. Of there are doubles. But it is that you should have come over here and that we should have met like this at just this time. You see, the I over to England at all was to try to Jimmy Crocker to come here."
"What!"
"I don't that I did. I that I with my uncle and aunt, who wanted to him to come and live with them."
Jimmy was now out of his depth.
"Your uncle and aunt? Why?"
"I ought to have that they are his uncle and aunt, too. My aunt's sister married his father."
"But—"
"It's simple, though it doesn't so. Perhaps you haven't read the Sunday Chronicle lately? It has been articles about Jimmy Crocker's in London—they call him Piccadilly Jim, you know—"
In print, that name had Jimmy. Spoken, and by Ann, it was loathly. Remorse for his painful past at him.
"There was another one printed yesterday."
"I saw it," said Jimmy, to description.
"Oh, did you? Well, just to you what of a man Jimmy Crocker is, the Lord Percy Whipple he in the was his very best friend. His step-mother told my aunt so. He to be hopeless." She smiled. "You're looking sad, Mr. Bayliss. Cheer up! You may look like him, but you aren't him he?—him?—no, 'he' is right. The is what counts. If you've got a good, virtuous, Algernonish soul, it doesn't if you're so like Jimmy Crocker that his friends come up and talk to you in restaurants. In fact, it's an advantage, really. I'm sure that if you were to go to my aunt and to be Jimmy Crocker, who had come over after all in a fit of repentance, she would be so pleased that there would be nothing she wouldn't do for you. You might your of being by a millionaire. Why don't you try it? I won't give you away."
"Before they me out and me off to prison, I should have been near you for a time. I should have in the same house with you, spoken to you—!" Jimmy's voice shook.
Ann her to address an companion.
"You must to this, my dear," she said in an undertone. "He speaks wonderfully! They used to call him the Boy Orator in his home-town. Sometimes that, and sometimes Eloquent Algernon!"
Jimmy her fixedly. He of this frivolity.
"One of these days you will try me too high—!"
"Oh, you didn't what I was saying to my friend, did you?" she said in concern. "But I meant it, every word. I love to you talk. You have such feeling!"
Jimmy himself to the key of the conversation.
"Have you no in you?" he demanded.
"I was just up, too! In another minute you would have something while. You've me now. Let's talk about my again."
"Have you of anything?"
"I'd like to be one of those who in offices, and checks, and tell the office-boy to tell Mr. Rockerfeller they can give him five minutes. But of I should need a check-book, and I haven't got one. Oh well, I shall something to do all right. Now tell me something about yourself. Let's the for awhile."
An hour later Jimmy into Broadway. He walked pensively, for he had much to his mind. How that the Petts should have come over to England to try to him to return to New York, and how that, now that he was in New York, this to a was closed by the that something which he had done five years ago—that he nothing about it was maddening—had Ann to nurse this of him. He to of Ann, from to in a trance.
From this the seventh him by his name, the name which had him to abandon.
"Jimmy Crocker!"
Surprise Jimmy from his to the hard world—surprise and a exasperation. It was to be in a city which he had not visited in five years and to be in this way by every second man he met. He looked at the man. The other was a sturdy, square-shouldered, man, who on his a of and regard. Jimmy was not particularly good at faces, but this person's was of a which the memory might have recalled. It was, as the say, individual. The nose, the forehead, and the ears all for recognition. The last time Jimmy had Jerry Mitchell had been two years at the National Sporting Club in London, and, him at once, he himself, as a while ago he had himself to Reggie.
"Hello!" said the one.
"Hello indeed!" said Jimmy courteously. "In what way can I your life?"
The from the other's face. He looked puzzled.
"You're Jimmy Crocker, ain't you?"
"No. My name to be Algernon Bayliss."
Jerry Mitchell reddened.
"'Scuse me. My mistake."
He was moving off, but Jimmy stopped him. Parting from Ann had left a large in his life, and he society.
"I know you now," he said. "You're Jerry Mitchell. I saw you Kid Burke four years ago in London."
The returned to the pugilist's face, than ever. He with gratification.
"Gee! Think of that! I've since then. I'm for an old guy named Pett. Funny thing, he's Jimmy Crocker's uncle that I you for. Say, you're a for that guy! I have it was him when you into me. Say, are you doing anything?"
"Nothing in particular."
"Come and have a yarn. There's a place I know just by here."
"Delighted."
They their way to the place.
"What's yours?" said Jerry Mitchell. "I'm on the myself," he said apologetically.
"So am I," said Jimmy. "It's the only way. No in always and making a of in public!"
Jerry Mitchell this in silence. It definitely of the in his mind as to the possibility of this man being Jimmy Crocker. Though by the other's denial, he had not been able to himself till now of a suspicion. But this him. Jimmy Crocker would have said a thing like that would have the offer of alcohol. He into with him. His mind eased.
