The major gasped.
"Ninety-five . . . ! You're not . . . ?"
"Yes!" answered Gran'pa, proudly expanding his chest. "I'm the living, irrefutable proof of everything you've been promised."
"Marvellous, sir! . . . Er— . . . marvellous! You're an American, I perceive. A wonderful country for which I have the greatest admiration and respect. But . . . if I express a doubt . . . you will, I hope, pardon me. . . ."
"By all means! Come inside!"
In the hall we were prepared for the doubting Thomases. Gran'pa not only had his birth certificate, but also an imposing array of photographs which would shatter the most incredulous. There were family portraits of himself from fifty years of age and upwards and, most convincing of all, there was the series of likenesses taken since the operation—showing the daily progress of rejuvenation.
"By gad, sir!" cried the major. "This is a miracle!"
"It's certainly very near it," observed Gran'pa, studying a picture of himself at the decrepit, pre-rejuvenation age of ninety-two.
"And you feel young?"
Gran'pa caught hold of a couple of seats, arranged their backs parallel-bar fashion and raised and inverted himself like an acrobat.