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220 looked up the country road, then down it. The gig had disappeared, but a cloud of dust lingered in the air over where it had just turned a bend.

Van started forward in this direction. There was a pained, confused expression on his face, as if he could not quite get the right of things. Ralph came up to him and detained his steps by placing a hand on his arm.

The way Van shook off his grasp showed that he had lost none of his natural strength.

"What you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"Don't you know me?"

"Me? you? No."

"Hold on," persisted Ralph, "don't go yet. You are Van."

"That's my name, yes."

"And I am Ralph—don't you remember?"

"I don't."

"Ralph Fairbanks."

Van gave a start. He squarely faced his companion now. His blinking eyes told that the machinery of his brain was actively at work.

"Fairbanks—Fairbanks?" he repeated. "Aha! yes—letter!"

His hand shot into an inside coat pocket. He withdrew it disappointedly. Then his glance chancing to observe for the first time, it seemed, the suit he wore, apparel that belonged to Ralph,