His was the opening incident of the series of extraordinary and altogether incongruous events which took place afterwards, as it appeared to T.Tembarom, like scenes in a play in which he had become involved in a manner which one might be inclined to regard humorously and make jokes about, because it was a thousand miles away from anything like real life.That was the way it struck him.The events referred to, it was true, were things one now and then read about in newspapers, but while the world realized that they were actual occurrences, one rather regarded them, when their parallels were reproduced in books and plays, as belonging alone to the world of pure and highly romantic fiction.
"I guess the reason why it seems that way," he summed it up to Hutchinson and Little Ann, after the worst had come to the worst, "is because we've not only never known any one it's happened to, but we've never known any one that's known any one it's happened to.I've got to own up that it makes me feel as if the fellows'd just yell right out laughing when they heard it."The stranger's money had been safely deposited in a bank, and the stranger himself still occupied Tembarom's bedroom.He slept a great deal and was very quiet.With great difficulty Little Ann had persuaded him to let a doctor see him, and the doctor had been much interested in his case.He had expected to find some signs of his having received accidentally or otherwise a blow upon the head, but on examination he found no scar or wound.The condition he was in was frequently the result of concussion of the brain, sometimes of prolonged nervous strain or harrowing mental shock.Such cases occurred not infrequently.Quiet and entire freedom from excitement would do more for such a condition than anything else.If he was afraid of strangers, by all means keep them from him.Tembarom had been quite right in letting him think he would help him to remember, and that somehow he would in the end reach the place he had evidently set out to go to.Nothing must be allowed to excite him.It was well he had had money on his person and that he had fallen into friendly hands.A city hospital would not have been likely to help him greatly.
The restraint of its necessary discipline might have alarmed him.
So long as he was persuaded that Tembarom was not going to desert him, he was comparatively calm, though sunk in a piteous and tormented melancholy.His worst hours were when he sat alone in the hall bedroom, with his face buried in his hands.He would so sit without moving or speaking, and Little Ann discovered that at these times he was trying to remember.Sometimes he would suddenly rise and walk about the little room, muttering, with woe in his eyes.Ann, who saw how hard this was for him, found also that to attempt to check or distract him was even worse.When, sitting in her father's room, which was on the other side of the wall, she heard his fretted, hurried pacing feet, her face lost its dimpled cheerfulness.She wondered if her mother would not have discovered some way of clearing the black cloud distracting his brain.Nothing would induce him to go down to the boarders' dining-room for his meals, and the sight of a servant alarmed him so that it was Ann who took him the scant food he would eat.As the time of her return to England with her father drew near, she wondered what Mr.Tembarom would do without her services.It was she who suggested that they must have a name for him, and the name of a part of Manchester had provided one.There was a place called Strangeways, and one night when, in talking to her father, she referred to it in Tembarom's presence, he suddenly seized upon it.
"Strangeways," he said."That'd make a good-enough name for him.Let's call him Mr.Strangeways.I don't like the way the fellows have of calling him 'the Freak.'"So the name had been adopted, and soon became an established fact.
"The way I feel about him," Tembarom said, "is that the fellow's not a bit of a joke.What I see is that he's up against about the toughest proposition I've ever known.Gee! that fellow's not crazy.He's worse.
If he was out-and-out dippy and didn't know it, he'd be all right.
Likely as not he'd be thinking he was the Pope of Rome or Anna Held.
What knocks him out is that he's just right enough to know he's wrong, and to be trying to get back.He reminds me of one of those chaps the papers tell about sometimes--fellows that go to work in livery-stables for ten years and call themselves Bill Jones, and then wake up some morning and remember they're some high-browed minister of the gospel named the Rev.James Cadwallader."When the curtain drew up on Tembarom's amazing drama, Strangeways had been occupying his bed nearly three weeks, and he himself had been sleeping on a cot Mrs.Bowse had put up for him in his room.The Hutchinsons were on the point of sailing for England--steerage--on the steamship Transatlantic, and Tembarom was secretly torn into fragments, though he had done well with the page and he was daring to believe that at the end of the month Galton would tell him he had "made good" and the work would continue indefinitely.
If that happened, he would be raised to "twenty-five per" and would be a man of means.If the Hutchinsons had not been going away, he would have been floating in clouds of rose color.If he could persuade Little Ann to take him in hand when she'd had time to "try him out,"even Hutchinson could not utterly flout a fellow who was making his steady twenty-five per on a big paper, and was on such terms with his boss that he might get other chances.Gee! but he was a fellow that luck just seemed to chase, anyhow! Look at the other chaps, lots of 'em, who knew twice as much as he did, and had lived in decent homes and gone to school and done their darned best, too, and then hadn't been able to get there! It didn't seem fair somehow that he should run into such pure luck.
