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Charles Wrexell Allen's chair was finally awarded to a nephew of Judge Short, who could turn a story to perfection. So life at the inn settled down again to what it had been before the Celebrity came to disturb it. I had my own reasons for staying away from Mohair. More than once as I drove over to the county-seat in my buggy I had met the Celebrity on a tall tandem cart, with one of Mr.
"Fenelon," said his wife, "you must remember you have never yet entertained a guest of a larcenous character. No embezzlers up to the present. Marian," she continued, turning to Miss Thorn, "you spoke as if you might, be able to throw some light upon this matter. Do you know whether this gentleman is Charles Wrexell Allen, or whether he is the author? In short, do you know who he is?"
"He must make friends easily," I said. "With the women? yes," he replied, so scathingly that I was forced to laugh in spite of myself. "Let us go in and look at the register," I suggested. "You may have his name wrong." We went in accordingly. Sure enough, in bold, heavy characters, was the name Charles Wrexell Allen written out in full. That handwriting was one in a thousand.
"Charles Wrexell Allen," cried Marian and I together. The Celebrity looked surprised. "How did you know?" he demanded. "Go on with your story," said Marian; "what did he do?" "What did he do?" said the Celebrity; "why, the blackguard stepped up and shook me by the hand, and asked after my health, and wanted to know whether I were married yet.
Charles Wrexell Allen, treasurer of the widely known Miles Standish Bicycle Company, was said to have led the cotillon in a manner that left nothing to be desired. So it was this gentleman whom the Celebrity was personating! A queer whim indeed.
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