"I believe you," I answered. "In the last few days you have certainly changed for the better. . . ."
That brief conversation gave me an insight into Gran'pa's new character—or was it his old one emerging butterfly-like from the chrysalis of age? He had become a man with a serious purpose in life; though he would not reveal exactly what that purpose was.
Events moved swiftly. A short time after Molly's complete recovery, Gran'pa visited the barber, and returned with a clean-shaven face and shorter locks!
The effect was bewildering, but very impressive. I saw for the first time the square-cut jaw and the firm mouth which had been hidden beneath the tangle of white beard and moustache. His cheeks were still sunken and his neck was scraggy; but—"They'll fill out in time, George!" he said.
The next day he dyed his hair a dark brown—and knocked his apparent age down to not a day more than fifty.
A week later he had discarded his old-fashioned swallow-tailed coat and wide-legged trousers for a smartly-cut gray lounge suit of the latest style. Another five or ten years seemed to have gone in a flash!
He began gradually acclimatizing himself to cold baths in the mornings. The bath-room echoed with the sounds of his blowings and splashings and singings. . . .
An elastic "exerciser" appeared as if by magic on his bedroom door, and a pair of dumb-bells sprang into being on the window-sill.
At meal times he poured on his food large quantities of olive oil—and fried brown bread in it, for what he called his "eleven o'clock snack."
He even made a daily visit to the local beauty parlor, where his wrinkles were smoothed and steamed and massaged. Under this and the olive oil treatment his face and neck grew rounder and firmer.