By: George Gibbs (1870-1942)
_What else?_—What else had happened? Something to do with the remarkable likeness between himself and Harry? The likeness,—so strong that only their own mother had been able to tell them apart.
Memory came to him with a rush. He remembered now what had happened in the darkness, what he had done. Taken Harry’s lieutenant’s uniform, giving the coward his own corporal’s outfit. Then he, Jim Horton, had gone on and carried out the Major’s orders, leaving the coward writhing in the ditch.
By George!——the fight—he, Jim Horton, had won the victory at Boissière Wood for the —th Infantry—_for Harry!—as Harry_!
Perhaps, he was really Harry and not Jim Horton at all? He glanced around him curiously, as though somewhat amused at the metempsychosis. And then thoughtfully shook his head.
No. He was Jim Horton, all right—Jim Horton. There was no mistake about that. (Excerpt from chapter 1)