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.'"
Accordingly, we called him Johnson for the rest of the evening. While
the toddies were being consumed, Johnson observed the safe, a purchase
of my brother's, in which we kept our papers and accounts and any
money we might have. We had bought it, second-hand, and the vendor
assured us it was quite burglar-proof. Ajax mentioned this to our
guest.
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