Towards evening he awoke, smiled on me graciously, and then extended his right hand towards me with a gesture that was at once half-wistful, half-imperious; but when I grasped it according to wont, he seemed manifestly surprised. This puzzled me, but since that time I have grown to learn and understand many matters, great and small, which I failed to comprehend in these early days of our acquaintance. At first, I confess, I harboured some doubts as to the sanity of my mysterious stranger, but I soon perceived that though he spoke English in somewhat halting fashion and his brain worked with some degree of deliberation, yet of the acuteness of his reasoning powers there could be no question. In certain appeals of mine he deferred eventually to my arguments and acknowledged their justice, submitting amongst other things to have his thick chevelure clipped to a more conventional length, in order to avoid vulgar comment. After some reflection too he ultimately agreed with me as to the desirability of his adopting some name in consonance with the regulations for landing at Liverpool. Nevertheless, he utterly refused to declare his identity, but merely kept repeating with a smiling face, "Call me King!" to which pseudonym of his choice I ventured to add the Christian name of Theodore, promptly recalling the case of the impoverished King of Corsica on whom "Fate bestowed a kingdom yet denied him bread," for (quite erroneously) I then deemed him fully as destitute as that historic royal pauper.