“There is not, miss. I am here to see the president on the business of the Lord.”
“Oh! If that’s all I’m afraid I can’t disturb him.”
“I will wait.”
Wait he did, through all the morning, through the lunch hour—when the president hastened out past him—then into the afternoon, till the president was unable to work with the thought of that scarecrow out there, and sent for him.
“Well, well! What is it this time, John? I’m pretty busy. No news about Jasper, eh?”
“No news, sir, but—Jasper himself! I am Jasper Holt! His sin is my sin.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that stuff—twin brothers, twin souls, share responsibility—”
“You don’t understand. There isn’t any twin brother. There isn’t any John Holt. I am Jasper. I invented an imaginary brother, and disguised myself— Why, don’t you recognize my voice?”
While John leaned over the desk, his two hands upon it, and smiled wistfully, the president shook his head and soothed: “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Sounds like good old religious John to me! Jasper was a cheerful, efficient sort of crook. Why, his laugh—”
“But I can laugh!” The dreadful croak which John uttered was the cry of an evil bird of the swamps. The president shuddered. Under the edge of the desk his fingers crept toward the buzzer by which he summoned his secretary.