"Oh, yes. I know him very well."
"You know him?" exclaimed my host. "Why do you think you know him? I haven't even told you his name or where he lived."
"His name is John Childs," said I, starting in on a second cup of coffee.
The man and his wife gazed at each other with expressions of surprise. The fact was that I did well know a prominent farmer, an old and esteemed settler in Wisconsin, whose name was John Childs, and as he was the only man I did know who bore that family name, I took a flyer in jest, and it happened to hit the mark.
"Where did the John Childs that you know live?" asked my host. "In Lima, Wisconsin," was my prompt answer.
"Then he is probably not my brother. My brother went to Whitewater."
"Oh, that's all right," said I, "but you are mistaken in the supposition that your brother lives in Whitewater. He lives in the town of Lima, but the villages are only six miles apart. The railroad station is known as Child's Station."
This statement on my part was not so remarkable as it would appear to be, because I was familiar with the situation.
"Do you mean to say that he is now living?" asked Mr. Childs, as he drew very close to me at the table, while his wife also took a seat and listened intently.
"Living? He was living six months ago and weighs fully 200 pounds. I know nearly every man in all that country."