“Be Alfred Bell,” repeated Mr. Stokes. “Don't you see? Pretend to be Alfred Bell and go with me to your missis. I'll lend you a suit o' clothes and a fresh neck-tie, and there you are.”
“What?” roared the astounded Mr. Henshaw.
“It's as easy as easy,” declared the other. “Tomorrow evening, in a new rig-out, I walks you up to your house and asks for you to show you to yourself. Of course, I'm sorry you ain't in, and perhaps we walks in to wait for you.”
“Show me to myself?” gasped Mr. Henshaw.
Mr. Stokes winked. “On account o' the surprising likeness,” he said, smiling. “It is surprising, ain't it? Fancy the two of us sitting there and talking to her and waiting for you to come in and wondering what's making you so late!”
Mr. Henshaw regarded him steadfastly for some seconds, and then, taking a firm hold of his mug, slowly drained the contents.
“And what about my voice?” he demanded, with something approaching a sneer.
“That's right,” said Mr. Stokes, hotly; “it wouldn't be you if you didn't try to make difficulties.”
“But what about it?” said Mr. Henshaw, obstinately.