CHAPTER XVAS IN A LOOKING-GLASS.
The day was overcast and lowery. It was not actually raining, but the raw wind from the Sound brought with it a heavy mist, damp and clogging, which was almost as bad. The crispness was taken out of everything, the sidewalks were dank and slippery, and pedestrians hurried along the streets with turned-up collars, turned-down hat brims, and a general air of shivery unpleasantness, as if they hated themselves, the people they brushed elbows with, and, above all else, the business which made it necessary for them to be out in such sloppy weather.
Dick Merriwell, who had returned to New Haven, was no exception to the general rule as he walked along Chapel Street toward the campus. His long, loose, tightly buttoned coat, with the collar turned above the ears, was covered with a multitude of tiny drips of moisture, almost like hoarfrost. The brim of his soft felt hat was pulled down over his eyes, and now and then a drop of water gathered at the point and splashed to the sidewalk.
He had been out on a rather important errand and, being anxious to get over to the dining hall on time, he did not dawdle, but strode along, gloved hands deep down in his pockets, growling under his breath maledictions on the weather which would effectually prevent any football practice on the field that afternoon.
He was walking on the inside of the sidewalk, close to the shop windows, and had almost reached the corner of Temple Street when he collided violently with a man who came dashing out of a store without a glance to see where he was going.
Both men staggered a little from the shock and the stranger’s black derby was knocked off. It was rolling toward the gutter when Dick caught it and turned to restore it to its owner.
“Beg pardon,” he said regretfully. “I had no idea——”
He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening with astonishment. For a second he stared in bewilderment at the young man before him.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he ejaculated.
The other man looked scarcely less surprised.
“Exactly!” he returned. “You took the very words out of my mouth.”
His keen, dark eyes were surveying Merriwell in much the same way that the Yale man looked at him, and his handsome face wore on it just such a look of whimsical perplexity as distinguished Dick’s countenance.
And smaller wonder. Had the two been twin brothers they could scarcely have been more alike. There was not a fraction of an inch variation in their heights. Both were well set-up, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with the lithe grace of carriage which distinguishes the well-developed athlete. Both had dark hair and equally dark eyes, straight noses, and well-shaped, sensitive mouths.
The fellow who had come out of the shop looked a trifle older than the Yale senior, and there were a number of minor points about his face and figure which would be quite apparent to a close observer when the two men were together; but, taken all in all, the resemblance was quite close enough to warrant the surprise which each one manifested at the sight of the other.
Merriwell recovered his customary poise first.
“It certainly does give a fellow a queer feeling to run up against his double in this casual sort of way,” he remarked lightly.
“Doesn’t it?” replied the stranger. “You don’t happen to be some long-lost brother that I’ve never heard of, do you?”
Dick smiled.
“I doubt it,” he returned. “I never had but one, and he looks less like me than you do. Perhaps somewhere back in the dark ages our ancestors were the same. My name is Merriwell, by the bye.”
The other gave a sudden start and a look of chagrin flashed over his face.
“Merriwell!” he exclaimed. “Dick Merriwell, of Yale! Of course. If I wasn’t the thickest sort of a blockhead that ever walked, I’d have caught on before.”
The Yale man looked puzzled.
“It isn’t possible we’ve ever met before,” he said quickly. “You’re not the sort of man I’d be likely to forget in a hurry.”
The stranger laughed.
“We’ve never met, though I’ve tried to meet you a number of times,” he laughed. “But I’ve seen you more than once. I can’t think why I didn’t recognize you at once. I suppose it’s because I’ve never had a really good, close look at you before. It has always been a long-distance glimpse from the bleachers or the grand stand out on the athletic field, and you know how football paraphernalia disguises a fellow.
“By Jove! I’m glad I was Johnny-on-the-spot just now, even if I did nearly knock you down. My name is Austin Demarest, and I certainly am glad to meet you.”
He held out a slim, brown hand with such an air of pleasure and camaraderie that Merriwell could not help a feeling of satisfaction as he clasped it in his own.
“And I you, Mr. Demarest,” he returned quickly. “I have a notion that I could like you a lot if I ever had a chance. Perhaps that sounds rather conceited, though.”
“Sort of in the nature of self-praise, eh?” chuckled Demarest. “It would be tough if a fellow couldn’t get along pretty well with himself, wouldn’t it?”
Unconsciously they had turned and were walking slowly along Chapel Street. Each one seemed unable to refrain from throwing occasional swift glances at the other, as if to satisfy himself that the odd resemblance was really a concrete fact and not some chance figment of the imagination.
Presently their eyes met and both burst out laughing.
“It doesn’t seem right,” chuckled Demarest. “I can’t get used to looking at you as if I were gazing at a mirror.”
“Nor I,” Merriwell agreed. “What sport we could have if you were only in the university. I can conjure up all sorts of attractive possibilities.”
“Such as substitution in lecture rooms?” suggested Demarest slyly.
“Not so much that as the fun we could have outside,” Dick answered. “By the way, what was the reason you wanted to meet me so much?”
Demarest did not answer at once. His face clouded and the laughter died out of his eyes. It was as if the question had recalled to his mind something disagreeable which had, for the moment, been forgotten. Twice he glanced hesitatingly at Merriwell in a troubled, doubtful sort of way as one who does not know quite what course to pursue.
“It’s a rather long story,” he said, at length; “and yet I think I’d like to tell it, if you have time to listen. Have you got anything on for a couple of hours? Couldn’t you come in and lunch with me?”
He made a quick gesture toward the New Haven House, at the entrance to which they had stopped an instant before.
“Why, yes,” Dick returned readily, “I’ll be very glad to. I was on my way to the dining hall, but this will be much better.”
Demarest’s face cleared.
“Good,” he said tersely. “I’m in the deuce of a hole, and perhaps you can help me out of it. Even if you can’t, there’s always a certain satisfaction in pouring one’s woes into a sympathetic ear.”
Dick smiled as they entered the hotel lobby and walked toward the cloakroom.
“What makes you so sure my ear will be sympathetic?” he asked. “You may get a terrible disappointment.”
“I guess not,” Demarest returned quickly. “We look so much alike that the resemblance can’t possibly stop at that. And I’m so blamed sorry for myself that sometimes I could fairly weep at my own misfortunes. Haven’t you felt sad sometimes without knowing the reason why?”
Merriwell nodded.
“Once in a while, yes.”
“I knew it!” Demarest exclaimed. “Those were the times when I was being more severely mauled by the Goddess of Misfortune than usual. Sort of mental telepathy, you know. But come, let’s not waste any more precious minutes. I fairly pine to let loose the floodgates of self-confession, and over there in the corner I see an empty table which had been saved for us by a special dispensation of providence.”