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Updated: June 22, 2025
But he mastered the impulse; and you had no sooner gone than he made his final preparations. "He left the house next morning immediately after breakfast, with as few belongings as possible. He didn't even wear an overcoat. Besides the Bagley money, he had a considerable sum of his own, mostly the result of his collaboration with you, Larcher.
"The old-fashioned idea still persists among the multitude," Larcher goes on, "and many parents abuse it in practice. There are people who look upon their children mainly as instruments sent from Heaven for them to live by. From the time their children begin to show signs of intelligence, they lay plans and build hopes of future gain upon them.
He sought out Barry Tompkins, and asked, "Did you ever mention to me a man named Turl?" "Never in a state of consciousness," was Tompkins's reply; and an equally negative answer came from everybody else to whom Larcher put the query that day. He thought of friend after friend until it came Murray Davenport's turn in his mental review.
I have to thank you, Larcher, for having caused me to learn what that was, in my former iden in the person of Murray Davenport. You see how the old and new selves will still overlap; but the confusion doesn't harm my sense of being Francis Turl as much as you might imagine; and the lapses will necessarily be fewer and fewer in time.
Larcher for once did not deplore the instantaneous completeness with which the feminine mind can shift about. Edna despatched a note bidding Florence come to luncheon the next day; she would send a cab for her, to make sure. The next day, in the midst of a whirl of snow that made it nearly impossible to see across the street, Florence appeared. "What is it, dear?" were almost her first words.
Finally Bagley, to whom Larcher had given his address, had sent for him to call at the former's rooms on a certain evening. These rooms proved to be a luxurious set of bachelor apartments in one of the new tall buildings just off Broadway.
The dying footsteps left Larcher with a sense of chill and desertion; and he could see this feeling reflected in the face of the landlady. "Do you think the matter had better be reported to the police?" said she, still in a lowered voice. "I don't think so just yet. I can't say whether they'd send out a general alarm on my report. The request must come from a near relation, I believe.
"I don't suppose the author of 'A Heart in Peril, for instance, has experienced hard luck as a result of your illustrating his story." "As a matter of fact," replied Davenport, with a look of melancholy humor, "the last I heard of him, he had drunk himself into the hospital. But I believe he had begun to do that before I crossed his path. Well, I thank you for your hardihood, Mr. Larcher.
She hailed them with gladness as pointing to a likelihood that Davenport was alive; but she ignored all implications of probable guilt on his part. That the amount of Bagley's loss through Davenport was no more than Bagley's rightful debt to Davenport, Larcher had already taken it on himself delicately to inform her.
The assemblage was, in short, a specimen of self-styled, self-conscious Bohemia; a far-off, much-adulterated imitation of the sort of thing that some of the young men with halos of hair, flowing ties, and critical faces had seen in Paris in their days of art study. Larcher made his way through the crowd in the front room to that in the back, acknowledging many salutations.
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