Arthur did not appear in the morning; but his course was so erratic that this occasioned no surprise; but when a week, two weeks went by without his return, Gus began to be seriously alarmed.
Wilbur proved a treasure; everything went on in the most methodical manner; he seemed to understand every detail of the business; to know where papers and records were kept, of which others had no knowledge; moreover he seemed to enjoy his work.
The residence also, seemed strangely familiar to him; on more than one occasion he surprised them by mentioning articles placed in rooms of which he was supposed to know nothing.
One evening Gus asked him: “Were you ever in that room?”
Wilbur looked bewildered: “I think not—I do not know,” he said slowly.
“If not, how do you know where that picture is placed, and the subject of the painting?”
They had been talking of the works of a certain master, and Wilbur mentioned a painting which hung in Arthur’s room.
He rested his head upon his hand in an attitude familiar to both; “I do not know; I seem to see it, that is all that I can tell you,” he answered in a sad tone.
Gus looked at Edith questioningly; she did not notice him, her eyes were fixed upon Wilbur.
The next morning as they were sitting down to breakfast, Arthur returned. Edith and Gus rose to their feet, simultaneously; he was dirty, and disheveled, his clothing tattered and soiled; he had the look of a tramp. “Well! You are a sight, and no mistake! Where have you been?” said Gus laughingly.