Another thing that Jack had in mind was the necessity of disguising himself. Being an entire stranger to the art of make-up, he required instruction. Ralph, their private bell-boy at the Madagascar, had seemed the likeliest person to apply to in such a case. Leaving the hotel that morning, Jack had said to him carelessly:
"I'm invited to a masquerade. Where's the best place to go for an outfit? I want something better than the ordinary costumer."
"Why don't you try Harmon Evers?" was the reply. "All the theatrical people go to him. He's the greatest make-up artist in New York."
"Where's his place?"
"Twenty-ninth street, just east of the Avenue."
Jack now bent his steps in that direction. He discovered a neat little shop on the street level with a sign reading:
HARMON EVERS, WIGS AND THEATRICAL MAKEUP.
In each of the two paneled show-windows one marvelous wig was displayed on its stand, nothing else. The interior was discreetly curtained from view. Opening the door, the pungent odor of grease paints greeted Jack's nostrils. Inside was as neat as out. There was a showcase setting forth cosmetics, and a counter beyond with another wig or two on stands. Back of the counter were tiers of drawers neatly labeled. The wall outside the counter was filled by a collection of small engravings of historical personages with especial regard to their hirsute appendages. Away back in the shop were several curtained alcoves for trying on.
Behind the counter sat a little, dumpy old lady befrilled and befrizzed, who suggested an erstwhile favorite of the boards now retired. Her large, faded eyes fell on Jack with a startled look, which however instantly disappeared in the polite saleswoman, as she inquired what he wished.
It appeared that Mr. Evers was engaged with a customer.
This customer presently issued from one of the alcoves, a dandy of the old school who was obviously much beholden to the wig-maker's art. Evers followed at his heels, rubbing his hands, and proudly surveying his work. Jack had the impression of a stout, rubicund little man of middle-age, clean-shaven and bald as an egg. True to the custom of tradesmen generally, he neglected his trade in his own person.
He was talking volubly as he came: "A very interesting question, sir, the relation of brains to hair. It is popularly supposed that a bald head is the result of great mental activity, but I have not found it so in my practice. Among ordinary men it is about six of one and half a dozen of the other. But I believe that a man cannot rise to real heights of greatness without a good head of hair. Yes, I know, there was Julius Caesar, and I admit it would be difficult to prove my case by historical examples, because wigs have always been procurable, and fashionable portrait painters naturally do not call attention to them. But it is an interesting speculation. Good morning, sir."
Jack asked to speak to Mr. Evers in private, and was shown into one of the alcoves. It was like a theatrical dressing-room, with a mirror surrounded by electric lights, and a shelf beneath.
Jack did not offer to tell who he was, and the little wig-maker, who seemed the soul of discretion, betrayed no curiosity on the subject. Jack came to the point at once.
"Circumstances make it necessary for me to do a little private detective work, and I'm obliged to learn how to disguise myself, well enough I mean, so I can go about the streets without danger of recognition. Can it be done?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Evers. "It is done oftener than you suppose."
"What sort of disguise do you recommend?"
"Let me think," said Mr. Evers, putting a thoughtful finger to his chin.
Jack was sitting facing the mirror, while Evers stood behind him studying his reflection through half closed eyes. Meanwhile Jack took stock of him. In repose the garrulous little man's face showed unexpected lines of resolution. He had a strong eye. That kind of eye may be found in wig-maker or bank president, but whatever the trade of the possessor may be, it is a pretty safe guess that he is master of it. All the visible part of Evers' skin, neck, face, skull, was of a curious angry pink shade—but not unhealthy. He had but a fringe of gray hair around the base of his skull, and his eyebrows were scanty. Certainly, in extolling the superiority of hairy men he had been disinterested.
"It is a good mask," he said—meaning Jack's face. "Good bones, well placed. A promising foundation for me to work on. You are young, too. No tell-tale lines for me to erase. Your hair is too luxuriant, but I don't suppose you want me to cut it."
"What would be the gain if it altered my usual appearance?"
"True, true! We'll get around that somehow. Difficulties only add zest to the artist's work."
After studying a little longer he said: "Since your purpose is to escape observation, I would suggest making you as insignificant as possible. Say a business man in a small way; industrious but not very bright; of very ordinary taste both in ideas and dress."
"My idea exactly!" said Jack.
"But I must impress upon you that my work here with false hair and pigments is only the beginning. To be successful our character must be constructed from the inside out. Before you leave here I will write out a description of the character as I see it, which I will ask you to study at your leisure. I particularly recommend that you repeat it to yourself just before falling asleep at night. It is the surest way of impressing it on your subconsciousness."
"Fine!" said Jack, more and more taken with the philosophic wig-maker.
Evers began to lay out the implements of his trade. While he worked he talked uninterruptedly.
"I assure you one's subconsciousness is all-important. Most people, unknown to themselves, play an assumed part throughout their lives, a part that has been suggested to the subconsciousness in early life by something they admire in other people or in books. When some great disturbance brings the real self to light people are amazed at what they discover in themselves.—Remove your coat, waistcoat and collar, please."
"Make it simple, please," said Jack. "Something that I can put off and on myself at need."
"The best art is always simple," said Mr. Evers. "First a wash for the entire face and neck. It is very thin and contains no grease to betray you in the sunlight. Its purpose is merely to dim the youthful glow of health that distinguishes you. See! You look fifteen years older already! A slightly darker tone under the eyes gives you a sedentary, slightly bilious look. Next heavy eyebrows, which with round spectacles will give you an owlish expression. Also a stiff, closely cropped mustache. You put on eyebrows and mustache with loose hair and glue which I will furnish you. Comb them out and clip them to the desired length after they are stuck on. The ready-made articles never look natural. You may depend upon the glue. It is my own invention. No amount of heat nor perspiration, nor soap and water can affect it, but it melts at a touch of alcohol. Lastly, pomade your hair liberally, and slick it down hard. See, it makes your hair look thin, and alters the whole shape of your head. There you are!"
"Wonderful!" said Jack, gazing at his strangely altered aspect.
"Oh, we've only just begun!" said Mr. Evers. "Next comes the question of clothes. Its importance cannot be exaggerated. Taste in clothes is of slow growth. The clothes of a youth tell you nothing, but a mature man's attire betrays him unerringly. Let me see! This requires study. We shall probably not hit it exactly at the first trial. I should say first a derby hat of very conservative shape, slightly old-fashioned, and a suit stiffly cut, of good material but ugly pattern of cloth. Shirt and necktie are very significant. They should be of common design and coloring, such as might be picked up at a sale. I have all such things here. The suit may not fit you perfectly, but it will take you as far as a clothing store where you can buy another."
In due course Jack was ready to brave the sunshine in his new guise. The charge was steep, but he could not deny that the work was worth it. He left his other clothes with Mr. Evers since he would have to return to the shop to change. The wig-maker stood off and examined him with satisfaction. Mrs. Evers was called on to admire her husband's work.
"What name would you suggest for my new character?" asked Jack, smiling.
Mr. Evers took the matter with entire seriousness. "Let me see—you look to me as if your name might be——" His face cleared—"I have it! Your name is certainly Mr. Pitman."
"Mr. Pitman it shall be!"
"Mr. Fred Pitman," added Evers.
As Jack left the shop it was a few minutes before twelve, that is to say, just about the time he had designed to try out his new character for the first. He made his way up to Forty-Second street, and took up his station before the building that housed the offices of the Eureka Protective Association.
Here he walked slowly up and down well lost in the crowd hurrying east and west. He found his disguise effective in that the passers-by no longer noticed him. Only when people stopped looking at him did Jack become aware that in his proper person he attracted friendly glances wherever he went. That started a curious speculation in his mind: "How do people know whether they want to look at you or not, if they don't look at you first to see what you are like?"
It was half-past............