"The devil!" exclaimed our spectator. "I haven't done a thing like that for thirty or forty years, sir!"
"In twelve months' time you'll be jumping five-barred gates!"
The major, overcome with emotion, sat down and mopped his brow.
At the same moment, the next arrival appeared. He was a little protuberant man with white whiskers and a red face.
"Am I right?" he queried in a thin, small voice.
"I hope so!" answered Gran'pa, cheerfully.
Then they came in droves. I went to the door to take the tickets and saw a sight which nearly moved me to instant flight. Clustered round the entrance, like a great swarm of black beetles, was a collection of fifty or more old men, clad apparently in every variety of clothes they could unearth or discover. There were fashions which took one back nearly a century, and some which might have been created only yesterday—all in dead black or dark navy, except for one bucolic old roué who wore a light check suit and a gray trilby.
They shuffled and shoved their way to the door with a sort of blind and obstinate impoliteness, fumbling for their tickets, grunting, clearing their throats, and mumbling to themselves like ill-tempered children. As they peered up at me and asked numerous and absurd questions, my irritation increased. They seemed mildly curious and very intent on pushing one another; but there was no trace of enthusiasm in their manner, no spontaneity, no zest. It was as if the whole business was an almost impersonal affair, and when the full eighty-seven were at last seated I saw in a flash what the assembly reminded me of.
As I looked at their great, solemn, bewhiskered faces, their gloomy clothes and their stiff, uncomfortable postures it became impossible to shake off the conviction that this was a gathering of learned scientists about to discuss (but certainly not to participate in) this new and wonderful discovery of eternal youth. Also, it might conceivably have been a committee on divorce law reform, or a company meeting, or a teetotal prohibition campaign—but, whatever it was, I could not bring myself to view these people as the world's first contingent of volunteers for the army of rejuvenation.
It was the most august body of ancient and unromantic-looking people I have ever seen, and, as I stood scanning their faces and revolting at their working mouths and fluttering whiskers, a sense of utter failure and hopelessness seized me. Was this our material? Was this the clay from which we had to fashion the grace and beauty of Youth? Was this the promise of the future? God forbid . . . !