But we liked him, were, indeed, charmed by him. As Ajax
remarked, Fascination does not trot in the same class with Respect.
Twice I caught that shameless little witch, Hetty, in our back
pasture, where Wilkins was splitting rails. Thrice a week she called
at the ranch-house on her way to the post office.
"She means to marry Wilkins," said Ajax to me. "And why not? If one
woman has made him--er--invertebrate, let Hetty Upham put backbone
into him."
That evening we asked Wilkins to witness a legal paper, some agreement
or other. He signed his name Henry Wilkins. Ajax stared at me; then he
walked to the bookcase. His voice was very hard, as he turned, Harrow
register in hand, and said: "The only Wilkins at Tommy's was Theodore
Vane Wilkins."
Wilkins rose, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. Ajax scowled.
"We told Silas Upham that you were an old Harrovian," began my
brother.
"So I am; but my name is not Wilkins." He lit a cigarette, before he
continued quietly: "I'm a fraud. I'm not even an Englishman. My father
was a Southerner. He settled in England after the war. He used to say
bitterly that he had been born the wrong side of the Atlantic.
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