"The only thing I can think of," I said at last, "is that you intend hypnotically suggesting to the aged that they should hand themselves over body and soul to the pioneers of this new Rejuvenation Cult."
"By Jove!" he laughed. "That's not bad, Stringer! Eh?"
"Old Bill" bristled—and then grinned expansively. This expression of gentle mirth looked very quaint—the most anti-Old Billish thing one could imagine. It was uncanny.
"Why not enlighten me?" I asked, somewhat testily.
"I'd rather not—just at present," answered Gran'pa. "You know how I hate the thought of failure, George. There's a possibility that this may end in failure. . . . I hope not, because, if it succeeds, it will be the keystone of the whole system. Still, I'll tell you what we'll do. You shall come down to Bristol with us this evening and see how the theory works."
Beyond this I could not get. Gran'pa was adamant, and Stringer was sphinx-like. To see them, one would have thought that I was a mere outsider and that they had been life-long friends. I was tired, however, of showing my incessant curiosity in Gran'pa's plans, and so I acquiesced.
"Very well," I said. "I'll come!"
Gran'pa nodded.
"At the same time, George," he remarked, "I think that you might hand in your resignation at the office to-day. We're going to be very busy during the next few weeks. Now that Mr. Stringer has arrived, there is no time to be lost."
I said very little more after that. I ate my breakfast quickly, explained to Nanny that we should be away for a day or two, packed my bag, came downstairs again, arranged to meet Gran'pa and Stringer in town at about five o'clock, kissed Molly "Good-bye," and set out to catch a train half-an-hour or so later than usual.