Part 30 (2/2)

At sixteen minutes after nine John was stripping off his brown wig and the funereal clothes in his bedroom. At twenty-eight after, John Holt had again become Jasper Holt, the capable teller of the Lumber National Bank.

Jasper Holt left the light burning in his brother's bedroom. He rushed downstairs, tried the fastening of the front door, bolted it, made sure that all the windows were fastened, picked up the bundle of groceries and the pile of candies that he had removed from the booklike candy boxes, blew out the light in the living room and ran down the willow walk to his car. He threw the groceries and candy into it, backed the car out as though he was accustomed to backing in this bough-scattered yard, and drove off along the lonely road at the rear.

When he was pa.s.sing a swamp he reached down, picked up the bundle of candies, and steering with one hand removed the wrapping paper with the other hand and hurled out the candies. They showered among the weeds beside the road. The paper which had contained the candies, and upon which was printed the name of the Parthenon Confectionery Store, Jasper tucked into his pocket. He took the groceries item by item from the labeled bag containing them, thrust that bag also into his pocket, and laid the groceries on the seat beside him.

On the way from Rosebank to the center of the city of Vernon he again turned off the main avenue, and halted at a goat-infested shack occupied by a crippled Norwegian. He sounded the horn. The Norwegian's grandson ran out.

”Here's a little more grub for you,” bawled Jasper.

”G.o.d bless you, sir. I don't know what we'd do if it wasn't for you!”

cried the old Norwegian from the door.

But Jasper did not wait for grat.i.tude. He merely shouted: ”Bring you some more in a couple days,” as he started away.

At a quarter past ten he drove up to the hall that housed the latest interest of Vernon society-the Community Theater. The Boulevard Set, the ”best people in town,” belonged to the Community Theater a.s.sociation, and the leader of it was the daughter of the general manager of the railroad. As a well-bred bachelor Jasper Holt was welcome among them, despite the fact that no one knew much about him except that he was a good bank teller and had been born in England. But as an actor he was not merely welcome: he was the best amateur actor in Vernon. His placid face could narrow with tragic emotion or puff out with comedy; his placid manner concealed a dynamo of emotion. Unlike most amateur actors he did not try to act-he became the thing itself. He forgot Jasper Holt, and turned into a vagrant or a judge, a Bernard Shaw thought, a Lord Dunsany symbol, a Susan Glaspell radical, a Clyde Fitch man-about-town.

The other one-act plays of the next program of the Community Theater had already been rehea.r.s.ed. The cast of the play in which Jasper was to star were all waiting for him. So were the worried ladies responsible for the staging. They wanted his advice about the blue curtain for the stage window, about the baby-spot that was out of order, about the higher interpretation of the role of the page in the piece-a role consisting of only two lines, but to be played by one of the most popular girls in the younger set. After the discussions, and a most violent quarrel between two members of the play-reading committee, the rehearsal was called.

Jasper Holt still wore his flannel suit and a wilting carnation; but he was not Jasper; he was the Duc de San Saba, a cynical, gracious, gorgeous old man, easy of gesture, tranquil of voice, shudderingly evil of desire.

”If I could get a few more actors like you!” cried the professional coach.

The rehearsal was over at half past eleven. Jasper drove his car to the public garage in which he kept it, and walked home. There, he tore up and burned the wrapping paper bearing the name of the Parthenon Confectionery Store and the labeled bag which had contained the groceries.

The Community Theater plays were given on the following Wednesday.

Jasper Holt was highly applauded, and at the party at the Lakeside Country Club, after the play, he danced with the prettiest girls in town. He hadn't much to say to them, but he danced fervently, and about him was a halo of artistic success.

That night his brother John did not appear at the meeting of the Soul Hope Fraternity out in Rosebank.

On Monday, five days later, while he was in conference with the president and the cas.h.i.+er of the Lumber National Bank, Jasper complained of a headache. The next day he telephoned to the president that he would not come down to work-he would stay home and rest his eyes, sleep and get rid of the persistent headache. That was unfortunate, for that very day his twin brother John made one of his infrequent trips into Vernon and called at the bank.

The president had seen John only once before, and by a coincidence it had happened that on this occasion also Jasper had been absent-had been out of town. The president invited John into his private office.

”Your brother is at home; poor fellow has a bad headache. Hope he gets over it. We think a great deal of him here. You ought to be proud of him. Will you have a smoke?”

As he spoke the president looked John over. Once or twice when Jasper and the president had been out at lunch Jasper had spoken of the remarkable resemblance between himself and his twin brother. But the president told himself that he didn't really see much resemblance. The features of the two were alike, but John's expression of chronic spiritual indigestion, his unfriendly manner, and his hair-unkempt and lifeless brown, where Jasper's was sleekly black above a s.h.i.+ny bald spot-made the president dislike John as much as he liked Jasper.

And now John was replying: ”No, I do not smoke. I can't understand how a man can soil this temple with drugs. I suppose I ought to be glad to hear you praise poor Jasper, but I am more concerned with his lack of respect for the things of the spirit. He sometimes comes to see me, at Rosebank, and I argue with him, but somehow I can't make him see his errors. And his flippant ways-!”

”We don't think he's flippant. We think he's a pretty steady worker.”

”But his play-acting! And reading love stories! Well, I try to keep in mind the injunction 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' But I am pained to find my own brother giving up immortal promises for mortal amus.e.m.e.nts. Well, I'll go and call on him. I trust that some day we shall see you at Soul Hope Hall, in Rosebank. Good day, sir.”

Turning back to his work the president grumbled: ”I'm going to tell Jasper that the best compliment I can hand him is that he is not like his brother.”

And on the following day, another Wednesday, when Jasper reappeared at the bank, the president did make this jesting comparison; and Jasper sighed: ”Oh, John is really a good fellow, but he's always gone in for metaphysics and Oriental mysticism and Lord knows what all, till he's kind of lost in the fog. But he's a lot better than I am. When I murder my landlady-or say, when I rob the bank, chief-you go get John; and I bet you the best lunch in town that he'll do his best to bring me to justice. That's how blame square he is!”

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