A new name

by Grace Livingston Hill

Anita kept her own counsel. She was polite and pleasant, consulting with him when it was necessary, that is, when she could not get some one else to do it for her, but never taking him into the gracious circle of her close acquaintances. Jane often asked her why she had to be so stiff. Jane was more effusive than ever about the young hero of the town. But Anita closed her lips and went about her business, as charming as ever and just as distant. It intrigued Murray. He never had had a girl act like that to him. If it had not been for the fact that she reminded him unpleasantly of Bessie and made him uncomfortable every time he came in her vicinity, he would have set to work in earnest to do something about it, but he really was very busy and almost happy at the bank, and was quite content to let her go her way. His work at the bank was growing more and more fascinating to him. He was like a child who is permitted to work over machinery and feel that he is doing real work with it. He fairly beamed when his accounts came out just right, and he loved being a wheel that worked the machinery of this big clean bank. While he was there he forgot all that was past in his life, forgot that any minute a stranger might walk in and announce himself as the real Allan Murray, and he would have to flee. In the sweet wholesomeness of the monotony of work it seemed impossible that such things as courts of justice could reach a long arm after him and place him in jail, and try him for his life.

He liked most of the men with whom he was associated, also he liked Mrs. Summers. The little talks they had at night before he went up to his room gave him something like comfort. It was a new thing, and he enjoyed it. He even let her talk about religious questions, and sometimes asked her a shy question now and then, though most of all he was afraid to venture questions lest he reveal his utter ignorance and lay himself open to suspicion. More and more as the days went by he began to cling to the new life he was carving out for himself, and to dread to lose it. The respect of men, which he had never minded about in his other days, was sweet to him now. To have lost his first estate gave him a great regard for the one into which he had dropped unawares. It was not his, but he had none now, and he must not let them take this one away from him. He flattered himself now and then that he had been born again, as the legend in that trolley-car had advised. He was like a little child learning a new world, but he was learning it and he liked it.

Into the midst of this growing happiness and assurance entered the State Christian Endeavor Convention.

It was to be held in a near-by city. He had not understood that he would have to go away to a strange place when he took the office, but it was too late to refuse now. He must risk it. Still, it worried him some. Here in Marlborough he was known, now, and would not easily be taken for some one else. Practically everybody in town knew him, or knew who he was. He would not likely be mistaken or arrested for any one else, even if his picture were put up in the bank right opposite his own window. He had by this time ventured to look the picture of the advertised man on the wall fully in the face, and discovered it did not look in the least like himself, so he had grown much easier about such things. If all this time had passed and nothing had come out about him, surely his father had found a way to hush things up. Poor dad! He wished he dared send him word that he was all right, and on the way to be a man. But he must not. It might only precipitate a catastrophe. He was dead, and had been born again. He must be dead to all his old life if he hoped to escape its punishment.

He journeyed to the Convention in company with a large party from the Marlborough churches, who hovered around him and made him feel almost like a peacock with all their adulation. They pinned badges on him, chattered to him of their committee work, asked his advice about things he had never heard of before, and it amused him wonderfully to see what answers he could give them that would satisfy them, and at the same time would in no wise give himself away.

But when they arrived at the strange city and went in a body to the convention hall, and Murray saw for the first time the great audience room, with its bunting and streamers and banners and mottoes, his heart began to fail him. A kind of sick feeling came over him. It appalled him that he was to be made conspicuous in a great public assembly like this. He never imagined that it was to be a thing of this sort. He began to realize what a fool he had been to get into a fix like this—what an unutterable fool that he did not clear out entirely. He did not belong among people like this. He could never learn their ways, and inevitably sometime, probably soon, he would be found out. Every day, every hour, he remained would only make the outcome more unspeakable. This business of being born again was an impossible proposition from the start. One could not work it. He ought to go. He would go at once! This was as good a time as any. Much better than in Marlborough, for no one around would recognize him, and he could get far away before his absence was discovered.

He cast a quick glance around him, and saw that his delegation were all being seated up near the front of the audience-room. With swift steps he marched down the aisle and out the door, and came face to face with the man who was to lead the devotional meeting, to whom he had just been introduced.

“I was looking for you, Murray,” he said. “You’re wanted at once up on the platform. They want to consult you about the appointment of the committees before the meeting opens. Better hurry! It’s time to begin.”

Baffled again, Murray turned back up the aisle, resolving to find some excuse to slip out the side door which he could see opening from the platform. There was to be a devotional meeting. He had heard talk about selecting hymns. He would slip out while they were singing. At any rate, there was no escape here just now, for the leader of the devotional meeting was just behind him.

So he went to the platform, bowed and smiled and tried to conduct himself in an altogether happy and care-free manner, assenting to all the suggestions about committees, listening to reasons for certain appointments as if he knew all about it and was interested, with that flattering deference that was second nature to him. But his eyes kept turning constantly to the door at the left of the platform; and when they were finally through with him and motioned him to a seat in the centre of the platform, he sank into the big chair of honor with relief. Now, at last, his release was at hand! When they arose to sing the first hymn he would look up as if some one beckoned. No matter where that door led to, he would get out of sight somewhere and stay hidden until this infernal convention was over, and he could safely vanish into the world again.