"You can have that, if you like," said Mrs. Clifton. "I got a dozen, and Ralph did not feel enough interest to keep one for himself, so I have plenty. I suppose it isn't anything extra, but it look like Ralph."
Bert was eagerly scanning the picture which Ralph Harding's sister had given him.
The face was long, the nose aquiline, the cheeks hollow, and the expression was that of a man who was dissatisfied with life. There were side whiskers of scanty growth, and there was a scrubby mustache of yellowish hue. It was a front view, and both ears were visible. They were of extraordinary size and stood out prominently from the head.
"I think I shall know Ralph Harding if I see him," thought Bert.
"I am very much obliged to you for the picture," said Bert. "With it to help me I hope I may find your brother."
"If you do," returned Mrs. Clifton, "will you write to me and let me know, Mr.——?"
"Barton. You will see my name on the playbill—Bert Barton. Yes, I will write to you in that case."
"There is one question I would like to ask you, Mr. Barton. You say you have never met my brother?"
"No."
"Then how did you learn that he had a sister in Peoria, and how did you know that that sister was myself."