Curtis to
meet. Jack, this is Miss O'Malley, who would have been our Jim's wife if
he'd lived. And Mary, this is one of Jim's classmates at college; a very
good friend."
The khaki young man (American khaki) held out his hand and I put mine
into it. He stared at me--a pleasant, sympathetic, and not unadmiring
stare--peering nearsightedly through the twilight.
"So Jim found you again, after all?" he asked, in a quiet, low voice,
not utterly unlike Jim's own. Men of the same university do speak alike
all over the world.
"I--don't quite understand," I stammered. When any sudden question about
Jim is flung at me before his parents, I'm always a little scared!
"Jim and I had a bet," Mr. Curtis explained, "that he couldn't travel
_incog._, through Europe for a given length of time, in a big auto,
doing himself well everywhere, without his real name coming out. He won
the bet, but he told me--after he got over a bad dose of typhoid--that
he'd lost the only girl he'd ever loved or could love--lost her through
that da--that stupid bet. He described the girl. I guess there aren't
two of her on earth!"
"That's a mighty fine compliment, Molly!" said Father Beckett.
Just then Brian called, and I wasn't sorry, for I couldn't find the
right answer for the man who had separated Jim Beckett from me. It was
all I could do to get my breath.
"Why, of course, that's your brother! I might have known by the
likeness. Gee, but it's great about the dog! No wonder it despised the
name of 'Sherlock.
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