--none better!"

"That will do."

As they rode into town more than one passer-by called out a ringing
"Hello, Jack!" or, "Back, eh, Jack? Hurrah for you!" and then uttered an
exclamation of disillusion when Prather turned his head.

"The others see it, too," said Bill.

"They seem to. Who is this double of mine?"

"Jack Wingfield."

"Jack Wingfield? It seems that our first names are the same, too. He
lives here, I take it."

"Yes. But he's away now."

"Well, when he comes back"--with a pause of slight irritation--"there
will be no difficulty in telling us apart."

He put his finger to a triangular patch of mole on his cheek. His
irritation passed and a sense of appreciative amusement at the
distinction took its place.

"Now, where shall I find Jasper Ewold?" he asked, as Bill drew up before
the Smiths.

A few minutes later the Doge, busy among his orange-trees, hearing a
step, looked up with a signal of recognition which changed to blank
inquiry when the cheek with the mole was turned toward him.

"Upon my word, sir, I--I thought that you were--" he began.

"Mr. Wingfield! Yes, everybody in town seems to think so at first glance,
so I am quite used to the comparison by this time," Prather put in,
easily. "It is very interesting to meet the founder of a town, and I
have come to you to find out about conditions here."

Prather did not appear as if he had ever done manual labor. He was too
young to have turned from ill health or failure in the city to the refuge
of the land. Indeed, his quiet gray suit of good material indicated
unostentatious prosperity. Evidently he was well-bred and evidently he
was not an agent for a new style of seeding harrow or weed killer.

"You think of settling?" asked the Doge.

"Yes. From all I have heard of Little Rivers, it's a community where I
should feel at home."

"Then, sir, we will talk of it at luncheon; it is knocking-off time for
the morning. Yes, I'll talk as much as you please. Come on, Mr. Prather!"
They started along the avenue of palms, the Doge still studying the face
at his side. "Pardon me for staring at you, but the resemblance to Jack
Wingfield at first sight is most striking," he added.

"Has he travelled much in the West?" asked Prather.

"Yes, much--leading an aimless life."

"Then he must be the one that I was taken for in Salt Lake City one day.
The man who called out to me saw his mistake, just as you did, when he
saw my full face;" and again