“Well, I had planned something like this: pretty quick, now, Mr. Smith was to announce the completion of his Blaisdell data, and, with properly grateful farewells, take his departure from Hillerton. He would go to South America. There he would go inland on some sort of a simple expedition with a few native guides and carriers, but no other companion. Somewhere in the wilderness he would shed his beard and his name, and would emerge in his proper person of Stanley G. Fulton and promptly take passage for the States. Of course, upon the arrival in Chicago of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, there would be a slight flurry at his appearance, and a few references to the hundred-thousand-dollar gifts to the Eastern relatives, and sundry speculations as to the why and how of the exploring trip. There would be various rumors and alleged interviews; but Mr. Stanley G. Fulton never was noted for his communicativeness, and, after a very short time, the whole thing would be dismissed as probably another of the gentleman’s well-known eccentricities. And there it would end.”
“Oh, I see,” murmured Miss Maggie, in very evident relief. “That would be better—in some ways; only it does seem terrible not to—to tell them who you are.”
“But we have just proved that to do that wouldn’t bring happiness anywhere, and would bring misery everywhere, haven’t we?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then why do it?—particularly as by not doing it I am not defrauding anybody in the least. No; that part isn’t worrying me a bit now—but there is one point that does worry me very much.”
“What do you mean? What is it?”
“Yourself. My scheme gets Stanley G. Fulton back to life and Chicago very nicely; but it doesn’t get Maggie Duff there worth a cent! Maggie Duff can’t marry Mr. John Smith in Hillerton and arrive in Chicago as the wife of Stanley G. Fulton, can she?”
“N-no, but he—he can come back and get her—if he wants her.” Miss Maggie blushed.
“If he wants her, indeed!” (Miss Maggie blushed all the more at the method and the fervor of Mr. Smith’s answer to this.) “Come back as Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, you mean?” went on Mr. Smith, smiling at Miss Maggie’s hurried efforts to smooth her ruffled hair. “Too risky, my dear! He’d look altogether too much like—like Mr. John Smith.”
“But your beard will be gone—I wonder how I shall like you without a beard.” She eyed him critically.