"Good! Mr. Stringer possesses one of the least known but most potent forces in nature. He calls himself a hypnotist and mental healer, but I prefer the older term, Animal Magnetism. I have great hopes of Mr. Stringer—when we reach Africa. . . ."
[CHAPTER VIII]
WE SET OUT FOR BRISTOL
I looked at this man Stringer more closely, and was surprised to find that he had now assumed a more normal and human appearance. It was as if our initial handshake had liberated some hidden fountain of fiendishness in him, and now that it was all over we were quite good friends again.
As I studied him I couldn't help feeling that I had seen his face before. And then I suddenly saw the reason of it. He had that peculiar, much married, walrus-moustached appearance of Bairnsfather's "Old Bill." He was a rather short, thick-set man, too, and wore the "Old Bill" expression of eternal, philosophical contentment. Sitting there in the arm-chair, with one stumpy leg crossed over the other, he might easily have been this terrible "Fragment of the Great War" come to life. But the moment he spoke, the similarity vanished. His moustache bristled until it stood out nearly at right angles, his eyes flamed with that hidden fire, and his whole attitude became one of extreme animation. He seemed to compel the listener's attention. And yet, the very second he ceased speaking, the fire died down, the moustache subsided and drooped, his body became listless. Once more, he was poor "Old Bill"—harmless, inoffensive, and soothing to the senses. It was certainly an extraordinary accomplishment and had no doubt taken years to acquire; but I failed to see exactly what all this had to do with hunting apes in Africa.
Gran'pa watched these signs of facial birth and decay with enthusiastic approval.
"D'you see the idea, George?" he asked.
"I'm bothered if I do."
"It's as old as the hills—and yet it's new."
I racked my brains for an explanation, but found none.