saw that the African traveller, Sidney Ormond, was to be received by the Mayor and Corporation of a Midland town, and presented with the freedom of the city. The traveller was to lecture on his exploits in the town so honouring him, that day week. Ormond put down the paper with a sigh, and turned his thoughts to the girl from whom he had so lately parted. A true sweetheart is a pleasanter subject for meditation than a false friend.
Mary also saw the announcement in the paper, and anger tightened her lips and brought additional colour to her cheeks. Seeing how averse her lover was to taking any action against his former friend, she had ceased to urge him, but she had quietly made up her own mind to be herself the goddess of the machine.
On the night the bogus African traveller was to lecture in the Midland town, Mary Radford was a unit in the very large audience that greeted him. When he came on the platform she was so amazed at his personal appearance that she cried out, but fortunately her exclamation was lost in the applause that greeted the lecturer. The man was the exact duplicate of her betrothed.
She listened to the lecture in a daze; it seemed to her that even the tones of the lecturer's voice were those of her lover. She paid little heed to the matter of his discourse, but allowed her mind to dwell more on the coming interview, wondering what excuses the fraudulent traveller would make for his perfidy.
When the lecture was over, and the usual vote of thanks had been tendered and accepted, Mary Radford still sat there while the rest of the audience slowly filtered out of the large hall. She rose at last, nerving herself for the coming meeting, and went to the side door, where she told the man on duty that she wished to see the lecturer. The man said that it was impossible for Mr. Ormond to see any one at that moment; there was to be a big supper; he was to meet the Mayor and Corporation; and so the lecturer had said he could see no one.
"Will you take a note to him if I write it?" asked the girl.
"I will send it in to him; but it's no use, he won't see you. He refused to see even the reporters," said the door-keeper, as if that were final, and a man who would deny himself to the reporters would not admit Royalty itself.
Mary wrote on a slip of paper the words, "The affianced wife of the real Sidney Ormond would like to see you for a few moments," and this brief note was taken in to the lecturer.
The door-keeper's faith in the constancy of public men was rudely shaken a few minutes later, when the messenger returned with orders that the lady was to be admitted at once.
When Mary entered the green-room of the lecture hall she saw the double of her lover standing near the fire, her note in his hand and a look of incredulity on his face.
The girl barely entered the room, and, closing the door, stood with her back against it. He was the first to speak.
"I thought Sidney had told me everything; I never knew he was acquainted with a young lady, much less engaged to her."
"You admit, then, that you are not the true Sidney Ormond?"
"I admit it to you, of course, if you were to have been his wife."
"I am to be his wife, I hope."
"But Sidney, poor fellow, is dead; dead in the wilds of Africa."
"You will be shocked to learn that such is not the case, and that your imposture must come to an end. Perhaps you counted on his friendship for you, and thought that even if he did return he would not expose you. In that you were quite right, but you did not count on me. Sidney Ormond is at this moment in London, Mr. Spence."
Jimmy Spence, paying no attention to the accusations of the girl, gave a war-whoop which had formerly been so effective in the second act of "Pocahontas," in which Jimmy had enacted the noble savage, and then he danced a jig that had done service in Colleen Bawn. While the amazed girl watched these antics, Jimmy suddenly swooped down upon her, caught her around the waist, and whirled her wildly around the room. Setting her down in a corner, Jimmy became himself again, and dabbed his heated brow with his handkerchief carefully, so as not to disturb the makeup.
"Sidney in England again? That's too good news to be true. Say it again, my girl, I can hardly believe it. Why didn't he come with you? Is he ill?"
"He has been very ill."
"Ah, that's it, poor fellow. I knew nothing else would have kept him. And then when he telegraphed to me at the old address, on landing, of course, there was no reply, because, you see, I had disappeared. But Sid wouldn't know anything about that, and so he must be wondering what has become of me. I'll have a great story to tell him when we meet; almost as good as his own African experiences. We'll go right up to London to-night, as soon as this confounded supper is over. And what is your name, my girl?"
"Mary Radford."
"And you're engaged to old Sid, eh? Well! well! well! well! This is great news. You mustn't mind my capers, Mary, my dear; you see, I'm the only friend Sid has, and I'm old enough to be your father. I look young now, but you wait till the paint comes off. Have you any money? I mean, to live on when you're married; because I know Sidney never had much."
"I haven't very much either," said Mary, with a sigh.
Jimmy jumped up and paced the room in great glee, laughing and slapping his thigh.
"That's first rate," he cried. "Why, Mary, I've got over £20,000 in the bank saved up for you two. The book and lectures, you know. I don't believe Sid himself could have done as well, for he always was careless with money—he's often lent me the last penny he had, and never kept any account of it; and I never thought of paying it back, either, until he was gone, and then it worried me."
The messenger put his head into the room, and said the Mayor and the
Corporation were waiting.
"Oh, hang the Mayor and the Corporation!" cried Jimmy; then, suddenly recollecting himself, he added, hastily, "No, don't do that. Just give them Jimmy—I mean Sidney—Ormond's compliments, and tell his Worship that I have just had some very important news from Africa, but will be with him directly."
When the messenger was gone Jimmy continued in high feather. "What a time we shall have in London. We'll all three go to the old familiar theatre, yes, and by Jove, we'll pay for our seats; that will be a novelty. Then we will have supper where Sid and I used to eat. Sidney shall talk, and you and I will listen; then I shall talk, and you and Sid will listen. You see, my dear, I've been to Africa too. When I got Sidney's letter saying he was dying I just moped about and was of no use to anybody. Then I made up my mind what to do. Sid had died for fame, and it wasn't just he shouldn't get what he paid so dearly for. I gathered together what money I could and went to Africa, steerage. I found I couldn't do anything there about searching for Sid, so I resolved to be his understudy and bring fame to him, if it were possible. I sank my own identity and made up as Sidney Ormond, took his boxes and sailed for Southampton. I have been his understudy ever since, for, after all, I always had a hope he would come back some day, and then everything would be ready for him to take the principal, and let the old understudy go back to the boards again and resume competing with the reputation of Macready. If Sid hadn't come back in another year, I was going to take a lecturing trip in America, and when that was done, I intended to set out in great state for Africa, disappear into the forest as Sidney Ormond, wash the paint off and come out as Jimmy Spence. Then Sidney Ormond's fame would have been secure, for they would be always sending out relief expeditions after him and not finding him, while I would be growing old on the boards and bragging what a great man my friend, Sidney Ormond, was."
There were tears in the girl's eyes as she rose and took Jimmy's hand.
"No man has ever been so true a friend to his friend as you have been," she said.
"Oh, bless you, yes," cried Jimmy, jauntily. "Sid would have done the same for me. But he is luckier in having you than in having his friend, although I don't deny I've been a good friend to him. Yes, my dear, he is lucky in having a plucky girl like you. I missed that somehow when I was young, having my head full of Macready nonsense, and I missed being a Macready too. I've always been a sort of understudy, so you see the part comes easy to me. Now I must be off to that confounded Mayor