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Updated: May 25, 2025
While we were lunching, that confirmed congenital idiot, Reggie Bartling, who happened to have come over to America as well, came up and called me by my name. I knew that, if Ann discovered who I really was, she would have nothing more to do with me, so I gave Reggie the haughty stare and told him that he had made a mistake.
After all, Reggie Bartling was a man of notoriously feeble intellect, who could believe in anything. The monocle continued its sweep. It rested on Jimmy's profile. "By Gad!" said the Vision. Reginald Bartling had landed in New York that morning, and already the loneliness of a strange city had begun to oppress him.
Jimmy achieved one of the blankest stares 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 stony eye the immaculate Bartling wilted. It was a perfectly astounding likeness, but it was apparent to him when what he had ever heard and read about doubles came to him. He was confused. He blushed.
Few things are certain 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 braced himself to the task of being Bayliss, the whole Bayliss, and nothing but Bayliss. It might be that stout denial would carry him through.
So thinking, he turned to Ann again, while the crimson Bartling tottered off to restore his nerve centres to their normal tone at some other hostelry. He found Ann staring amazedly at him, eyes wide and lips parted. "Odd, that!" he observed with a light carelessness which he admired extremely and of which he would not have believed himself capable. "I suppose I must be somebody's double.
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