conclusion of the story my unknown friend
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He stepped into the smoking compartment of the Pullman, where I was sitting alone.
He had on a long fur-lined coat, and he carried a fifty-dollar suit case that he put down on the seat.
Then he saw me.
“Well!
well!
” he said, and recognition broke out all over his face like morning sunlight.
“Well!
well!
” I repeated.
“By Jove!
” he said, shaking hands vigorously, “who would have thought of seeing you?”
“Who, indeed,” I thought to myself.
He looked at me more closely.
“You haven't changed a bit,” he said.
“Neither have you,” said I heartily.
“You may be a little stouter,” he went on critically.
“Yes,” I said, “a little;
but you're stouter yourself.”
This of course would help to explain away any undue stoutness on my part.
“No,” I continued boldly and firmly, “you look just about the same as ever.”
And all the time I was wondering who he was.
I didn't know him from Adam;
I couldn't recall him a bit.
I don't mean that my memory is weak.
On the contrary, it is singularly tenacious.
True, I find it very hard to remember people's names;
very often, too, it is hard for me to recall a face, and frequently I fail to recall a person's appearance, and of course clothes are a thing one doesn't notice.
But apart from these details I never forget anybody, and I am proud of it.
But when it does happen that a name or face escapes me I never lose my presence of mind.
I know just how to deal with the situation.
It only needs coolness and intellect, and it all comes right.