Produced by David Widger
By Winston Churchill
I am convinced that Mr. Cooke possessed at least some of the qualities ofa great general. In certain campaigns of past centuries, and even ofthis, it has been hero-worship that impelled the rank and file ratherthan any high sympathy with the cause they were striving for. And so itwas with us that morning. Our commander was everywhere at once,encouraging us to work, and holding over us in impressive language theawful alternative of capture. For he had the art, in a high degree, ofinoculating his followers with the spirit which animated him; andshortly, to my great surprise, I found myself working as though my lifedepended on it. I certainly did not care very much whether the Celebritywas captured or not, and yet, with the prospect of getting him over theborder, I had not thought of breakfast. Farrar had a natural inclinationfor work of this sort, but even he was infused somewhat with thecontagious haste and enthusiasm which filled the air; and together wefolded the tents with astonishing despatch and rowed them out to theMaria, Mr. Cooke having gone to his knees in the water to shove the boatoff.
"What are we doing this for?" said Farrar to me, as we hoisted the sail.
We both laughed.
"I have just been asking myself that question," I replied.
"You are a nice district attorney, Crocker," he said. "You have made amost proper and equitable decision in giving your consent to Allen'sescape. Doesn't your conscience smart?"
"Not unbearably. I'll tell you what, Farrar," said I, "the truth is,that this fellow never embezzled so much as a ten-cent piece. He isn'tguilty: he isn't the man."
"Isn't the man?" repeated Farrar.
"No," I answered; "it's a long tale, and no time to tell it now. But heis really, as he claims to be, the author of all those detestable bookswe have been hearing so much of."
"The deuce he is!" exclaimed Farrar, dropping the stopper he was tying.
"Did he write The Sybarites?"
"Yes, sir; he wrote The Sybarites, and all the rest of that trash."
"He's the fellow that maintains a man ought to marry a girl after he hasbecome engaged to her."
"Exactly," I said, smiling at his way of putting it.
"Preaches constancy to all men, but doesn't object to stealing."
I laughed.
"You're badly mixed," I explained. "I told you he never stole anything.He was only ass enough to take the man's name who is the living image ofhim. And the other man took the bonds."
"Oh, come now," said he, "tell me something improbable while you areabout it."
"It's true," I replied, repressing my mirth; "true as the tale ofTimothy. I knew him when he was a mere boy. But I don't give you thatas a proof, for he might have become all things to all men since. AskMiss Trevor; or Miss Thorn; she knows the other man, the bicycle man, andhas seen them both together."
"Where, in India? Was one standing on the ground looking at his doublego to heaven? Or was it at one of those drawing-room shows where amedium holds conversation with your soul, while your body sleeps on thelounge? By George, Crocker, I thought you were a sensible man."
No wonder I got angry. But I might have come at some proper estimationof Farrar's incredulity by that time.
"I suppose you wouldn't take a lady