this time; so peacefully, in fact, that he borrowed a hundred dollars from them. Said he would be in trouble down there unless he had the money. I heard about this from several men and then from Jerry.
"Tell me straight, Steve; do you believe I do queer things?" he asked me suddenly one night.
"Of course not," I said.
"I know you wouldn't think it when I'm myself; but do you think there's a chance that sometimes I'm not myself and I go queer—like that fight with Jim Townsend a few weeks ago; and borrowing a hundred dollars from Davis in New York last Saturday. I swear to you, Steve, I haven't the slightest remembrance of even seeing Fred or any of the fellows with him who saw me and saw him hand me the hundred."
"They must have gone queer themselves," I said.
"No," said Jerry. "What they say is true. I don't remember seeing them; but I feel it,"
"Feel what?" I said.
"That they did meet me; for there's another me about, Steve; you know I've felt that. I know now he must be one of two things—either another personality living in me which turns Jerry Fanneal off, sometimes, and turns on—
