“I do.”
“On your word of honor? By everything you hold most sacred? Take your time in answering.”
“It wouldn't matter if I waited till the resurrection. I can't change myself. I'm not Garrison. Faith of a gentleman, I'm not. Honestly, Sue.” He laughed a little nervously.
Again her gray eyes searched his. She sighed. “Of course I take your word.”
She fumbled in her bosom and brought forth a piece of paper, carefully smoothing out its crumpled surface. Without a word she handed it to Garrison, and he spread it out on his filly's mane. It was a photograph of a jockey—Billy Garrison. The face was more youthful, care-free. Otherwise it was a fair likeness.
“You'll admit it looks somewhat like you,” said Sue, with great dryness.
Garrison studied it long and carefully. “Yes—I do,” he murmured, in a perplexed tone. “A double. Funny, isn't it? Where did you get it?” She laughed a little, flushing.
“I was silly enough to think you were one and the same, and that you wished to conceal your identity from your relatives. So I made occasion to steal it from the book your aunt was about to read. Remember? It was the leaf she thought the major had abstracted.”
“I must thank you for your kindness, even though it went astray. May I have it?”
“Ye-es. And you are sure you are not the original?”