"Good Lord!" I exclaimed again. "And please tell me what is he - - what
does he do? What is his distinction?"
"His distinction for me," she smilingly replied, "is that he prefers
my house to have his luncheon in after Sunday morning service. He knows
where he can get good cooking. And as a rule he invites some friend in
the town to lunch with him, so that should there be any conversation at
table his guest can speak for both and leave him quite free to enjoy
his food."
"And what part does he take in politics and public affairs - how does he
stand among your leading men?"
Her answer was that he had never taken any part in politics - had never
been or desired to be in Parliament or in the County Council, and was
not even a J.P., nor had he done anything for his country during the
war. Nor was he a sportsman. He was simply a country gentleman, and
every morning he took a ride or walk, mainly she supposed to give him a
better appetite for his luncheon. And he was a good landlord to his
tenants and he was respected by everybody and no one had ever said a
word against him.
There was nothing now for me to say except 'Good Lord!' so I said it
once more, and that made three times.
VI
A SECOND STORY OF TWO BROTHERS
Shortly after writing the story of two brothers in the last part but
one I was reminded of another strange story of two brothers in that
same distant land, which I heard years ago and had forgotten. It now
came back to me in a newspaper from Miami, of all places in the world,
sent me by a correspondent in that town. He - Mr. J. L. Rodger - some
time ago when reading an autobiographical book of mine made the
discovery that we were natives of the same place in the Argentine
pampas - that the homes where we respectively first saw the light stood
but a couple of hours' ride on horseback apart. But we were not born on
the same day and so missed meeting in our youth; then left our homes,
and he, after wide wanderings, found an earthly paradise in Florida to
dwell in. So that now that we have in a sense met we have the Atlantic
between us. He has been contributing some recollections of the pampas
to the Miami paper, and told this story of two brothers among other
strange happenings. I tell it in my own way more briefly.
* * * * *
It begins in the early fifties and ends thirty years later in the early
eighties of last century. It then found its way into the Buenos Ayres
newspapers, and I heard it at the time but had utterly forgotten it
until this Florida paper came into my hand.
