"If you are."
"Right! Of course, he may refuse our help. It wouldn't surprise me a little bit if he did refuse."
When our preparations were complete, we returned to the barn. In a few words Ajax told the stranger of what had been done.
"After supper," he concluded, "we'll talk things over. Times are rather good just now, and something can be arranged."
"You're very kind," replied the tramp; "but I think you had better leave me in the barn."
"We can't," said my brother. "It's too beastly to think of you like this."
Nevertheless, we had to argue the matter, and I ought to add that although we prevailed in the end, both Ajax and I were aware that the man's acceptance of what we offered imposed an obligation upon us rather than upon him. As he was about to enter the bath-house, he turned with the derisive smile on his lips--
"If it amuses you," he murmured, "I shall have earned my bath and supper."
When he reappeared, nobody would have recognised him. So far, the experiment had succeeded beyond expectation. A new man walked into our sitting-room and glanced with intelligent interest at our household gods. Over the mantel-piece hung an etching of the Grand Canal at Venice. He surveyed it critically, putting up a pair of thin hands, as so to shut off an excess of light.
"Jimmie Whistler taught that fellow a trick or two," he remarked.