On many subjects Mr. Thatcher was sane, but on others his memory was at fault. This was especially the case when his own history was referred to. A veil seemed to shut out all that part of his existence which preceded his coming to California.
“Where did you live before coming to this State, Mr. Thatcher?” asked a visitor one day.
“Eh?” asked Thatcher, looking puzzled.
The question was repeated.
A troubled look overspread the face of the stricken man, as he answered slowly:
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?” was the amazed rejoinder.
“No, I can’t seem to remember.”
The visitor was called away, and privately informed of Mr. Thatcher’s peculiarity.