Though Mr. Van Patten improved steadily during the week after Barnes’ return, the old gentleman did not venture from his room. Joe remained daily by his side from morning until bedtime, with a view to establishing himself so firmly in his father’s mind that if ever it became necessary to introduce Barnes in his proper person it would not be possible for the father to make comparisons. The possibility of such a contingency was really slight. The original deception had been practiced upon Mr. Van Patten’s touch and hearing, and whatever discrepancies of evidence based on these might bob up would have little weight against what the father was now able to see for himself. As for contradictions in the narrative, the father’s memory was weak and Barnes had appealed almost wholly to his emotions. It was really not until now that Mr. Van Patten had been able to fix his attention at all upon details.
Yet it was thought advisable not to let him know that a guest was in the house. This was no very difficult matter and involved nothing but a certain amount of caution. Aunt Philomela, who had quite recovered her spirits, disapproved of it on general principles but admitted the wisdom of the course.
“I don’t expect to see the end of this until I’m in my grave,” she avowed.
“Nor I,” admitted Barnes.
“And I shall consider myself very lucky if I do then.”
“And I—” Barnes paused. “Well, after all,” he went on, “that depends upon how it all turns out.”
Aunt Philomela looked at him curiously. She had looked at him curiously a great many times this last week. Barnes drew from his pocket a handful of loose matches. He began to arrange them with their heads in one direction.
“I have an embarrassment of riches,” he observed.
“I’m not sure that I like that new game you taught me,” snapped Aunt Philomela.
“It helps one to forget the duets,” suggested Barnes.