ood. Perhaps the "William" came to him
instinctively; he had no reason for choosing "Good."

Garrison left the hospital with his cough, a little money the
superintendent had kindly given to him, and his clothes; that was all.

Handicapped as he was, harried by futile attempts of memory to fathom
his identity, he was about to renew the battle of life; not as a
veteran, one who has earned promotion, profited by experience, but as a
raw recruit.

The big city was no longer an old familiar mother, whose every mood and
whimsy he sensed unerringly; now he was a stranger. The streets meant
nothing to him. But when he first turned into old Broadway, a vague,
uneasy feeling stirred within him; it was a memory struggling like an
imprisoned bird to be free. Almost the first person he met was Jimmy
Drake. Garrison was about to pass by, oblivious, when the other seized
him by the arm.

"Hello, Billy! Where did you drop from--"

"Pardon me, you have made a mistake." Garrison stared coldly, blankly at
Drake, shook free his arm, and passed on.

"Gee, what a cut!" mused the book-maker, staring after the rapidly
retreating figure of Garrison. "The frozen mitt for sure. What's
happened now? Where's he been the past six months? Wearing the same
clothes, too! Well, somehow I've queered myself for good. I don't know
what I did or didn't. But I'll keep my eye on him, anyway." To cheer his
philosophy, Drake passed into the Fifth Avenue for a drink.

CHAPTER IV.

A READY-MADE HEIR.

Garrison had flattered himself that he had known adversity in his
time, but in the months succeeding his dismissal from the hospital he
qualified for a post-graduate course in privation. He was cursed with
the curse of the age; it was an age of specialties, and he had none.
His only one, the knowledge of the track, had been buried in him, and
nothing tended to awaken it.

He had no commercial education; nothing but the _savoir-faire_ which
wealth had given to him, and an inherent breeding inherited from his
mother. By reason of his physique he was disbarred from mere manual
labor, and that haven of the failure--the army.

So Garrison joined the ranks of the Unemployed Grand Army of the
Republic. He knew what it was to sleep in Madison Square Park with
a newspaper blanket, and to be awakened by the carol of the touring
policemen. He came to know what it meant to stand in the bread-line, to
go the rounds of the homeless "one-night stands."

He came