Page:Weird Tales v02n04 (1923-11).djvu/43

42 "I fancy they meant you no good. Have you been getting yourself into trouble?"

"Not in any way that you can understand."

"Well, here's your breakfast. I have engaged sweeping enough to keep you busy all day."

I ate my breakfast, and went to work. I was glad to work. Do you know, I have since reached the conclusion that there are many idle people who would be willing to make themselves useful, if they were not afraid of soiling their precious bodies, or of making them crooked, or otherwise unpresentable. I had always hesitated about doing anything that would harden my hands or make them rough, but I did not care a penny for Jack Walsh's hands. In fact, I gloried in the knowledge that they were getting some quite unaccustomed blisters and proving themselves of greater use than anyone had ever suspected they could be.

Jane collected my earnings before. At noon she offered me a pint of ale, but I refused it. Then she went to a shop and bought a really good dinner for me. She said she was almost ready to believe that Liz had known me best after all, and in many ways she showed that her opinion of me was rising. But she did not trust me with one penny of the money I had earned.

About the middle of the afternoon, a sheriff and posse called upon me.

"Are you Jack Walsh?" asked the sheriff.

"I am supposed to be."

"That does not answer my question. Are you Jack Walsh? Yes or no."

"Yes."

I did not like to say it, but what else could I have said?

"I believe you lie."

"You're right about that," I replied. "My real name is Joe Scranton. I own a pretty home in Wisconsin, U. S. A. My wife's name is Angeline."

"You dotty old nut, what are you giving us!".

"I'm telling you the truth, but I don't expect you to believe it."

"Haven't you been calling yourself Jack Walsh?"

"No, I haven't; but I have answered to that name."

"This is the fellow who asked me where Jack Walsh lived," said a man in the crowd. I recognized him as the one who had dared me to bet the treats that I was not a relative of Jack Walsh.

"Oh, Jack, Jack, what have you been doing now?"

Liz pushed her way through the crowd that had rapidly collected around me, and attempted to throw herself into my arms. She was weeping, and her lips were puckered ready for kissing.

"Get out of here!" I shouted. "If you touch me I'll kill you!"

"For shame!" said the sheriff.

"Kiss her yourself, if you think it is any fun," I retorted.

"That is not Jack Walsh," said a voice in the crowd. "Jack was mean enough, Lord knows, but he did let his wife kiss him."

"How long has he been like this?" asked the sheriff of Jane.

"Two or three days," was the reply, "but for the Lord's sake don't bring him out of it."

"Have you noticed that he won't allow Mrs. Walsh to kiss him?"

"Not if he can help it; he seems dead set against it."

"Yet you wish him to remain as he is."

"You bet I do."

"Why? Are you getting his kisses?"

"Me? If You mean me! What yeh hintin' at, you big stiff? Think I'd let that bum come near enough to kiss me? Why, I'd blow him into the middle of next week."

"Well, then, what is the reason you want him to remain as he is?"

"He's working for the first time in his life, and he's quit pounding Liz to a jelly."

"What does he do with his money?"

"I keep it. He say I can spend it on Liz, but he'd be tickled stiff if he never had to see her again."

"My man," he said, turning to me, "I guess you have not lived with Mrs. Walsh long enough to know her many good qualities. You may come with me."

I decided to go quietly, for I certainly could not be in a much worse position.

I was taken before a judge and examined, and it was proved beyond the possibility of doubt that I was not Jack Walsh. I could not answer the simplest questions about the former life of that individual. I did not know how many little Walshes I was responsible for, how many had died, how many were boys, nor which ones belonged to my first wife. Neither could I tell whether that wife had been separated from me by death, or divorce.

It was plain that I was not Jack Walsh; then who was I? And what was my little game? And where was Jack? I looked like Jack, they said, but that proved nothing. Many men had a double. Jane and Liz had never heard him mention a brother; but Jane said something to the effect that Jack was devilish enough to have a penitentiary full of relatives, and nothing could be worse than she had all along suspected.

I discovered that I was arrested for murdering two women in Whitechapel. I was supposed to be Jack the Ripper. There seemed to be a great deal of evidence against me, and there was every reason to believe that I should be hung.

The problem that now presented itself was this: Jack's physical body were to be hung what would become of my astral body? Of course, if I could obtain possession of my own body before Jack learned of the probable fate of his—but could I? I thought of astralizing myself just before the ceremony of hanging, as one way out of the difficulty; but soon dismissed that idea as useless. My jailers would simply try to restore me to consciousness—hang me if successful, and bury me if unsuccessful. The prospect was gloomy enough, whatever way one looked at it.

Finally, I was left alone in my cell, and, without loss of time, I stretched Jack's tired body on the iron pallet, and escaped, speeding my way home to Angeline. I had not gone half the distance when I met Jack Walsh.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, quite fraternally. "Want your old body back?"

"Lord, yes!" I began, with joyful enthusiasm, then, suddenly deciding to appear a little more diplomatic, I continued in carefully measured tones: "Of course, if you're through with it—umm! while I've had some interesting experiences in your body—er—ah—m—m—most interesting; yet—ah—you know—one's own body fits just a little better."

"Don't palaver! Mine's a rotten old shell, and you know it."

"Mine is far from being perfect," I murmured, wondering what argument I could use to persuade him to abandon it forever.

"Oh, I'm not making any kicks about the body! It's your family that gets my goat."

"My family?"

"Your women have never been taught to treat men with respect. Now you can't make any such complaint against my old woman. She's been trained!"

"She certainly has!" I exclaimed with all the cordiality at my command.

"Think she'll be glad to get me back again?"

"Why—e-h ye-es! I think she will. She seems surprisingly fond of you."

"That's more'n I can say for you and your damned skirt.

"You'll know, soon enough! Oh, you're going to get it in the neck! You'll get it good and plenty, and 'twill serve you jolly well right—whatever you get."