Gus started in amazement: “By Jove! That is so! Ever since he came it has puzzled me to know who he was like.” They had been busying themselves over the tea things as they talked, and now brought them forward. As they sipped their tea Gus endeavored to lead the conversation toward Wilbur’s former life, but he plainly evaded the subject. Arthur the whole evening sat moodily gnawing his mustache, or paced the floor restlessly. It was late when Wilbur took his departure. For a long time Gus could hear Arthur moving about his room, but at last he sank into dreamy slumber, in which Arthur and Wilbur were strangely intermingled, once starting up wide awake as he fancied he heard the hall door close. He lay a few minutes with every nerve quivering, afraid of—he knew not what; then took himself to task for being so foolish, and again dropped off to sleep. Arthur did not appear in the morning; but his course was so erratic that this occasioned no surprise; but when a week, two weeks went by without his return, Gus began to be seriously alarmed. Wilbur proved a treasure; everything went on in the most methodical manner; he seemed to understand every detail of the business; to know where papers and records were kept, of which others had no knowledge; moreover he seemed to enjoy his work. The residence also, seemed strangely familiar to him; on more than one occasion he surprised them by mentioning articles placed in rooms of which he was supposed to know nothing. One evening Gus asked him: “Were you ever in that room?” Wilbur looked bewildered: “I think not—I do not know,” he said slowly. “If not, how do you know where that picture is placed, and the subject of the painting?” They had been talking of the works of a certain master, and Wilbur mentioned a painting which hung in Arthur’s room. He rested his head upon his hand in an attitude familiar to both; “I do not know; I seem to see it, that is all that I can tell you,” he answered in a sad tone. Gus looked at Edith questioningly; she did not notice him, her eyes were fixed upon Wilbur. The next morning as they were sitting down to breakfast, Arthur returned. Edith and Gus rose to their feet, simultaneously; he was dirty, and disheveled, his clothing tattered and soiled; he had the look of a tramp. “Well! You are a sight, and no mistake! Where have you been?” said Gus laughingly. His appearance was really ludicrous; he tried to pass it off lightly, but a heavy frown belied his flippant manner. “Who made you your brother’s keeper?” “Really, I do not know who appointed me, but you look as though you were in need of some person to fill that position,” retorted Gus. Half defiantly he replied: “With your kind permission, I’ll take some breakfast,” tossing his hat on the floor, as he seated himself at the table.