Wallie stared at his mother. His mind was at once protesting the
fact and accepting it, with its consequences to himself. There was
a perceptible pause before he spoke. He stood, if anything, somewhat
straighter, but that was all.

"Are you sure it was Livingstone?"

"Positive. I talked to him. I wasn't sure myself, at first. He looked
shabby and thin, as though he'd been ill, and he had the audacity to
pretend at first he didn't know me. He closed the door on me and--"

"Wait a minute, mother. What door?"

"He was driving a taxicab."

He looked at her incredulously.

"I don't believe it," he said slowly. "I think you've made a mistake,
that's all."

"Nonsense. I know him as well as I know you."

"Did he acknowledge his identity?"

"Not in so many words," she admitted. "He said I had made a mistake, and
he stuck to it. Then he shut the door and drove me to the station. The
only other chance I had was at the station, and there was a line of
cabs behind us, so I had only a second. I saw he didn't intend to admit
anything, so I said: 'I can see you don't mean to recognize me, Doctor
Livingstone, but I must know whether I am to say at home that I've seen
you.' He was making change for me at the time--I'd have known his hands,
I think, if I hadn't seen anything else-and when he looked up his face
was shocking. He said, 'Are they all right?' 'David is very ill,' I
said. The cars behind were waiting and making a terrific din, and a
traffic man ran up then and made him move on. He gave me the strangest
look as he went. I stood and waited, thinking he would turn and come
back again at the end of the line, but he didn't. I almost missed my
train."