When he reached us, he produced his card of admission and inclined himself a little stiffly and self-consciously. Gran'pa extended a hand pleasantly, and said: "Welcome, sir! I hope the remainder are as promising as yourself. As a man of ninety-five, I may be permitted to compliment you on your youthful appearance." The major gasped. "Ninety-five . . . ! You're not . . . ?" "Yes!" answered Gran'pa, proudly expanding his chest. "I'm the living, irrefutable proof of everything you've been promised." "Marvellous, sir! . . . Er-- . . . marvellous! You're an American, I perceive. A wonderful country for which I have the greatest admiration and respect. But . . . if I express a doubt . . . you will, I hope, pardon me. . . ." "By all means! Come inside!" In the hall we were prepared for the doubting Thomases. Gran'pa not only had his birth certificate, but also an imposing array of photographs which would shatter the most incredulous. There were family portraits of himself from fifty years of age and upwards and, most convincing of all, there was the series of likenesses taken since the operation--showing the daily progress of rejuvenation. "By gad, sir!" cried the major. "This is a miracle!" "It's certainly very near it," observed Gran'pa, studying a picture of himself at the decrepit, pre-rejuvenation age of ninety-two. "And you _feel_ young?" Gran'pa caught hold of a couple of seats, arranged their backs parallel-bar fashion and raised and inverted himself like an acrobat. "The devil!" exclaimed our spectator. "I haven't done a thing like that for thirty or forty years, sir!" "In twelve months' time you'll be jumping five-barred gates!" The major, overcome with emotion, sat down and mopped his brow. At the same moment, the next arrival appeared. He was a little protuberant man with white whiskers and a red face. "Am I right?" he queried in a thin, small voice. "I hope so!" answered Gran'pa, cheerfully. Then they came in droves. I went to the door to take the tickets and saw a sight which nearly moved me to instant flight. Clustered round the entrance, like a great swarm of black beetles, was a collection of fifty or more old men, clad apparently in every variety of clothes they could unearth or discover. There were fashions which took one back nearly a century, and some which might have been created only yesterday--all in dead black or dark navy, except for one bucolic old _roué_ who wore a light check suit and a gray trilby.