"You are wondering what brought me to California. As a matter of fact, a private car. No, thanks, no more claret."
Later, we hoped he might melt into confidence over tobacco and toddy. He smoked one cigar slowly, and with evident appreciation; and, as he smoked, he stroked the head of Conan, our Irish setter, an ultra- particular person, who abominated tramps and strangers.
"Conan likes you," said Ajax abruptly.
"Is that his name? 'Conan,' eh? Good Conan, good dog!" Presently, he threw away the stub of his cigar and crossed to a small mirror. With a self-possession rather surprising, he began to examine himself.
"I am renewing acquaintance," he explained gravely, "with a man I have not seen for some months."
"By what name shall we call that man?" said Ajax boldly.
There was a slight pause, and then our guest said quietly--
"Would 'Sponge' do? 'Soapy Sponge'!"
"No," said my brother.
"My father's Christian name was John. Call me 'Johnson.'"