"'I'm a man of 81 with the heart and brain of a youngster. I want to live another twenty or thirty years because I think that the next two or three decades will be crammed with more progress (and excitement!) than the whole of the last century. Having survived the crawling stage, the human race is beginning to run. By the greatest misfortune in life, I was born eighty years too soon. I can't alter it now, but I can at least mitigate the blow--with your help. If you have the hundredth place still vacant, will you temporarily reserve it for me until I have the pleasure of a personal interview? I am willing to defray the cost of my own treatment and of any six others you care to choose as worthy of your philanthropy. "Sincerely yours, "THOMAS FINIKINS." "If that man isn't an American," cried Gran'pa, "I'll give a thousand dollars to the first beggar I meet. We'll include him, George. I like the tone of the letter, too. It shows a zest in life. Just the thing we want in these blasé days." So Thomas joined the ranks of the chosen! The applicants were divided into three groups--the picked men (ninety strong), the reserves (forty-seven), and the rejected. The first would be the vanguard of this new army of old men marching on the Citadels of Youth; the second would form the nucleus of the army itself, when it drew recruits from all parts of the world and became a vital fighting force. Meanwhile, we arranged interviews with the chosen ninety. The proceedings which followed were, naturally, treated as strictly private; and we insisted on a written pledge of secrecy from each before giving any further particulars. Three of them would not give this pledge--and so to these we still remained an enigmatic box number. But the remaining eighty-seven were presented with cards of admission to a small hall in Battersea which we had hired for the inaugural meeting. In case of trouble, we took with us Stringer, the gentle hypnotist, who had completely recovered from his bout with the gorilla. We also arranged for Dr. Croft to attend, in order to perform the very necessary medical examinations. I was to act the part of sidesman and ticket collector. Gran'pa was to be the lecturer and sole exhibit of the new Rejuvenation Club (as we had decided to call it). The fateful day having duly arrived, the four of us proceeded to the hall and prepared to welcome the first arrival. He appeared half-an-hour before time, a tall, thin man, with a peculiar bend, like a huge interrogation mark, an eye-glass, and a long white moustache which was partly visible even to those who approached him from the rear. With a brisk step, he came hurrying up the deserted road, swinging a cane and puffing vigorously at a great bulldog pipe. "Retired army man, by the look of him," observed Gran'pa, who was standing with me in the doorway of the hall. "That'll be Major Atkinson," I said. "Of course . . . there was a major."