“No, no,” I managed to gasp. “I’m not—I don’t think so.”
I had known nothing of Aidenn Vale or of the ruins, mansions, or creatures in it. But I knew this man!
IV.
The Bidding Feast
“Pendleton!” I exclaimed, “the Honourable Crofts Pendleton!”
“Eh?”
“Hail, fellow well met! This is a lark!”
The man was nonplussed. It had always been, at least for me, one of his chief charms when we were in the same college, the haziness and obstruction of mind that were so queerly assorted with his solidity of physique. Now, eight years between, he was bulkier than ever and (I was willing to wager) yet more detached from reality in his mental operations.
He was scratching his fine mane of hair now, irresolute. And he really had reason to be confused while we confronted each other in the dimly-lit porch. For I presented such a scotched and scrambled appearance as never before, mould-mud-and-sweat-clotted, unrecognizable no doubt even to my most accustomed friends. Why should he not be startled when in this gear and guise I greeted him with burbling cheer?
He looked so dumbly helpless that I had to laugh.
“Man, man, do you mean to say that you don’t remember me by my voice?”