After a time he calmed down, and taking out his purse counted the contents.
There is something akin to the ridiculous in the near association of pathos and money; they are very near neighbors, however. Christopher sighed deeply: “This is all I have left, and—when my lawyer will not acknowledge my identity, what am I to do?” He drummed impatiently upon the table with his fingers; finally he started up excitedly: “Of course! Good Lord! why didn’t I think of that!”
He hauled his gripsack into the middle of the room; shirts and socks flew right and left, until he found the cathodographs, also a photograph taken just previous to his experimenting; he took them out, and placed them in a row; taking the photograph, he walked to the mirror and compared it with the reflection.
“I don’t wonder that no one knew you, you old scarecrow, you!” glaring angrily at his double.
The next morning he again sought Mr. Hurd; the lawyer turned angrily upon his entrance: “I do not wish to be bothered, sir,” motioning toward the door.
Christopher was not to be put off in this manner; he walked up to the desk, and laid down the pictures he had brought.
“Will you be kind enough to look at these?” asked Christopher in a quivering voice.
Mr. Hurd glanced at them impatiently: “Well! What of them?”
“You know this one as representing Christopher Hembold?” he asked eagerly, with his finger on the photograph spoken of.
“Yes, of course; what of that? it does not resemble you,” curtly.