This was not an original thought-any man with life insurance policies as large as mine will consider such a fact even in better times. The investors had insisted upon this very reasonable precaution, and no one ever questioned my buying additional coverage to protect Emma should I meet with some accident and predecease her. I knew that even if I died by my own hand, the investors would be paid. But while the investors would receive a payment under nearly any circumstances, Emma would be denied the death benefit were I to commit suicide.
Perhaps, I thought, I could disappear at sea, in a boating accident. But would there be some lengthy delay in paying the benefit to Emma if my body were missing?
I had walked some distance by now, and I grew thirsty. Looking for some place to find refreshment, I began to take note of my surroundings. I was in a part of town not wholly familiar to me, a commercial district of some sort. I saw a fellow in neat attire step into a nearby bar. I took out my pocket watch, the one my grandfather gave to me, and saw that it was now just past noon.
As I entered the bar, I was pleased to note that the customers were not by any means loutish. Clean and decently dressed, they were neither as wealthy as those of our own set, nor common laborers. It was not a rowdy group; most were quietly talking to one another as they finished simple lunches of sandwiches and beer.
As I moved closer to the bar, one of the patrons standing at it turned to me and said, “Stopping in one last time before your journey, Fontesque?” He soon realized his mistake and quickly said, “Pardon me, sir. I mistook you for another.”
“Well, I’ll be-” the man next to him said, looking over his shoulder. “You can’t be blamed, Bill.”
“Don’t put the gentleman to the blush, you two,” the bartender said, perhaps wary of losing my custom. “What’ll it be, sir?”
“Now Garvey, admit he looks a bit like Fontesque,” the second persisted.
“You’ve something of his build and coloring, sir,” Garvey said, “but you’re by no means his twin.” Then nodding at the second man, he added, “I’m sure Jim here meant no offense.”
“None taken,” I said, feeling a desire to camouflage myself among these men. I would, for a few moments, pretend to be one of them, step out of the odious role of being Jenkin Hardwick of Hardwick Chemical and Supply. None of these men would look to me for advice or guidance, none of them had the least dependence upon me.
“Good of you sir,” Garvey was saying. “What’s your pleasure then, sir?”
“Same as my eagle-eyed friends, here,” I answered, smiling.
The one called Bill smiled back and said, “On me, Garvey.”
I extended a hand and said, “Harry Jenson,” as naturally as if that were the name my mother gave me.
Bill Nicolas and Jim Irving introduced themselves in turn, and we chatted amiably. Bill was an accountant, Jim, a purchasing agent for a manufacturing concern. I easily convinced them I was just returning from Seattle -which I had visited often enough to describe-and vaguely referred to an exporting business there. My appetite returned as I banished Jenkin Hardwick and became Harry Jenson, and Garvey brought me a beef sandwich. I had a nervous moment when Jim, admiring my suit, said that the job must pay well. I took refuge in smiling silence, and Bill, the more circumspect of the two, colored and quickly changed the subject.
My new friends left not long after, wishing Harry Jenson the best of luck, but saying they must get back to their offices. I nearly said that I must do the same, but caught myself in time. The place had emptied out, the lunch rush over, and I was swallowing the last of my beer when I looked up to see the very man I had been mistaken for enter the establishment.
It was an odd moment to be sure, Gussie. Garvey had told the truth when he said Fontesque was not my twin. Fontesque’s eyebrows were a little heavier, his mouth a little larger. But he and I were of the same height, of the same build, and our other features were not all together different. His nose was as straight as mine, his eyes as blue, his hair was the same dark brown-only cut a little shorter.
He was as shocked as I, or perhaps more so, because I had the benefit of a warning. Upon seeing me, he nearly dropped the drummer’s case he was carrying. An idea which had begun to take seed in my mind caused me to linger; I wanted the opportunity to study Mr. Fontesque.
Garvey smoothed the way, saying, “Louis Fontesque, as I live and breathe! I was hoping you’d come in before Mr. Jenson left!”
Fontesque brusquely rejected the bartender’s theory of our likely (if perhaps distant) relation to one another. He said he had no time for foolishness, giving the bartender some disgust of him. Garvey served his surly customer in a similar fashion, then was all politeness to me, filling my glass with his compliments before he withdrew to clear the tables at the back of the room.
Attempting conversation with my near look-alike, I remarked that I would not be surprised to learn that we were distant cousins, or some such. This was met by Mr. Fontesque with a shrug and a return to the contemplation of his suds. I was not daunted. Augustus, I ask you-how many would not see this fellow’s entering that establishment at that moment as an opportunity unlikely to present itself again?
He was wholly uncommunicative until, seeing that he carried a drummer’s case, I expanded on the tale I had told his fellows, and said I was the buyer for Hardwick Chemical and Supply, just back from a trip to Seattle. His attitude underwent an immediate change. He told me that he sold hardware especially designed for the mechanical needs of factories like Hardwick’s-pulleys, cleats, slings, shims and such. I encouraged this line of talk. After some moments, he blushed to confess that he had once called at my company but was turned away.
“Why, I regret that I was not on hand to speak to you then!” I said in tones of outrage. “If you remember the name of the fellow who refused you, I’ll see him reprimanded. Only a fool could fail to see the value of your merchandise to our company.” At this Fontesque puffed up. While he agreed with me (at length) that the fellow who had turned him away was a fool, I schooled my features into an expression of grave consideration.
Recalling that when Bill had mistakenly greeted me as Fontesque, he had also mentioned something about a journey, I took a gamble. “Allow me to make it up to you, Mr. Fontesque,” I said, in the tone of one hitting upon a grand idea. “You shall see Mr. Hardwick himself! Will you come by our offices in two days time?”
Fontesque looked so immediately dejected, I nearly laughed. “No, sir. I regret I won’t. I’m leaving for San Francisco on the morning train.”
My relief was vast, but I dared not show it. I frowned as if in concentration. “Hmm. Mr. Hardwick is out of his office today, but will return this evening. I am scheduled to see him in his office at eight. I know it is rather late, but would you be prepared to come to his office at that time? I feel we have done you a wrong, and would not like you to leave town with such a poor impression of our company. I should very much like Mr. Hardwick to meet you.”
“Hardwick himself?” he exclaimed.
“Yes. I wouldn’t want others to know I had given you such special treatment, but if you are willing to be discreet about this invitation-”
He readily agreed to it, swearing that no one could keep a secret like Louis Fontesque.
I made one other stop before hurrying back to the factory. As I sat in the barber’s chair, watching the beginnings of a transformation, I refined my plans. I ignored the sullen pouting of the barber. Over that good man’s objections, I had instructed him to cut my hair in a style identical to Fontesque’s; as I left, I assuaged his outraged sensibilities with a tip more handsome than my haircut.