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 "Keeban," said Jerry, "is another me. Don't you never have a Keeban, too?"

"No," I said; but I had Jerry's—that other imaginary boy, the duplicate of Jerry, who came to see us, whom we played with, who did extraordinary things and went away. Then, gradually, we dropped him; that is, Jerry ceased to mention him and we stopped having him "come." I think I forgot him until we were in Princeton University together; a lot of us had been to New York over the week-end and after we'd been back a few days, Jim Townsend dropped into Jerry's and my room, when Jerry was out, and said:

"Steve, I wouldn't say a word against Jerry to anybody but you; but you ought to know how queer he is sometimes."

"When?" I said.

"Last Saturday in New York; I was down on the east side with a bunch of our class, just knocking about the ordinary way, when we ran on Jerry in a rum lot, I tell you. He pretended not to recognize any of us; in fact, he was in a bunch that tried to rough us; we had rather a go. When it was over, I got at Jerry, he made me so damn mad going in with that lot of muckers against us. I told him what I thought and