The Award-Winning Collection by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Published: 2012-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

Lost Identity

SHE spoke musingly. “Of course you wouldn’t remember. It was at a Crescent Yacht Club dance about five years ago. You were there fresh from South America, and your yacht, the Seafarer, was anchored out in the stream. She was romantic, that yacht. I was in my last year of college—just one of two dozen such girls.” She smiled suddenly. “But you did give me a nice smile, Bob!”

He regarded her with screened eyes. It was very possible, for in those days life had been a constant round of such dances.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he said. “Not even your first name.”

“Phyllis. That’s the first name. Phyllis. You don’t like the last, which is Marmion. I can’t say that I blame you, at that. Dad is rather hard when it comes to business deals. Didn’t you ever recover a dime out of your Venezuelan oil fields?”

Sherman drained the last of his coffee. He had signed on as John Smith so that they would not uncover his real name on the ship’s articles. He had counted on remaining on the bridge and in the fo’c’s’le, that they might not see him. Still, he hadn’t even suspected that Marmion knew him on sight. To Marmion, Robert Sherman had been a name that suddenly ceased to be signed on Venezuelan dividend checks.

The girl drained her cup, and brought a damp packet of cigarettes from her almost transparent slicker. She offered him one, and he took it. Lighting up, they blew smoke across the narrow pantry. If it had not been for the pitching and rolling they would have forgotten all about the hurricane.

Phyllis Marmion spoke again. “Tell me about yourself.”

“You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Oh, please,” Phyllis protested. “Don’t take that attitude!”

“Well, at least it will while away the time.” Sherman took a long drag and blew smoke toward the bulkhead. “I landed in New York a couple months ago, down and out. Didn’t know where I could get a meal. All the fine friends I had a few years ago sniffed politely. Oh, yes, to them I was just a blond beggar, without connections or funds. They didn’t have time for me. They’d rather throw parties for your father.”

“Don’t say that,” the girl protested. “Dad isn’t so bad, once you know him.”

“Then I hope I’ll get to know him soon.” Sherman smiled again. “Do you want to hear a story that couldn’t be true?”

“I’d love it,” Phyllis assured him.

“All right.” Sherman’s voice was suddenly whimsical.

“Once upon a time there was a little boy who thought he was hot stuff, and his name was Bob Sherman. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Of course!”

“Well, this little boy promoted three thousand acres of oil land in a country where the sun is hot and the natives lazy and the politicians crooked. And he had more money than he could ever possibly spend. So he bought himself a yacht and named her the Seafarer.” Sherman poured himself another cup of coffee, and went on.

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