mind telling
you--that this imagination and fudge is making us all old before our
time; and I'm not going to stand any more of it, and that's all about
it."

With that old Joe Wilkings waved his stick and jumped up--that's what he
did; and he ninety-seven years and nine weeks! Talk about greyness!

Kate stared, and all the neighbours stared, and Mrs. Widdlcombe's pug
next door stared so that its eyes nearly fell out, as old Joe trotted
quickly out of the garden and down the street, and trotted up Mr.
Worble's steps, and tapped at the door like a boy that means to run
away; and when they opened the door, up he ran to old Worble's room, and
toddled in.

[Illustration: "OLD JOE TROTTED QUICKLY OUT OF THE GARDEN."]

And now comes in old Joe Wilkings's other remarkable quality--his
influence over others. It was all the outcome of his wonderful
determination--the influence of mind over matter. He could bamboozle
anyone, could Joe--it was for all the world like magic.

Old Worble was drooping over the fire in his big chair, into which he
had been put hours before.

What did old Joe do but go right up and slap him on the back in that
hearty way that old Worble went as near screaming as his weak state
would let him!

"Get up, Georgie Worble," shouted old Joe," and come round with me to
Sam Waggs to arrange about that picnic!"

Old Worble crooned and doddered, and feebly repeated "Picnic?"

"Ah, picnic, young 'un; and you've just hit it. But GET UP, I say!"

And, if you'll believe it, the third time old Joe Wilkings shouted "Get
up" in that voice of his, a-staring straight at Worble all the time, old
Worble _did_ slowly get up and stood, doddering, but without support.

"Don't you stand a-doddering at me like that as if you were a decrepit
old idiot instead of a boy; but just reach down your hat and bustle
along," said old Joe; and if Worble, after looking feebly and hopelessly
up at the hat on the high peg--the hat he had not worn for years--didn't
hop up on a wooden chair and fetch it down, and dash it on his head, and
then toddle downstairs and into the street arm-in-arm with old Joe!

If people had stared when old Joe came out of his garden, what did they
do _now_ when he and old Worble went dancing down the street arm-in-arm,
both of 'em chuckling like mad and chattering like magpies?

At the corner they met old Peter Scroutts in a bath-chair. Peter had a
paralyzed leg, and was so feeble that he could hardly