He refilled and relighted the corncob while Mr. Merrick stared at him in thoughtful silence.  As a matter of fact, Uncle John was pleased with the fellow.  A whimsical, irrational, unconventional appeal of this sort went straight to his heart, for the queer little man hated the commonplace most cordially.

“I’ll give you the money on one condition,” he said.

“I object to the condition,” said Gys firmly.  “Conditions are dangerous.”

“My proposition,” went on Uncle John, “won’t wait for weeks.  When you hear it, if you are not anxious to take it up, I don’t want you.  Indeed, I’m not sure I want you, anyhow.”

“Ah; you’re frightened by my features.  Most people with propositions are.  I’m an unlucky dog, sir.  They say it’s good luck to touch a hunchback; to touch me is the reverse.  Way up North in a frozen sea a poor fellow went overboard.  I didn’t get him and he drowned; but I got caught between two cakes of floating ice that jammed my nose out of its former perfect contour.  In Yucatan I tumbled into a hedge of poisoned cactus and had to operate on myself—­quickly, too—­to save my life.  Wild with pain, I slashed my face to get the poisoned tips of thorn out of the flesh.  Parts of my body are like my face, but fortunately I can cover them.  It was bad surgery.  On another I could have operated without leaving a scar, but I was frantic with pain.  Don’t stare at that big eye, sir; it’s glass.  I lost that optic in Pernambuco and couldn’t find a glass substitute to fit my face.  Indeed, this was the only one in town, made for a fat Spanish lady who turned it down because it was not exactly the right color.”

“You certainly have been—­eh—­unfortunate,” murmured Uncle John.

“See here,” said Gys, taking a leather book from an inside pocket of the coat that hung on a peg beside him, and proceeding to open it.  “Here is a photograph of me, taken before I embarked upon my adventures.”

Uncle John put on his glasses and examined the photograph curiously.  It was a fine face, clean-cut, manly and expressive.  The eyes were especially frank and winning.

“How old were you then?” he asked.

“Twenty-four.”

“And now?”

“Thirty-eight.  A good deal happened in that fourteen years, as you may guess.  And now,” reaching for the photograph and putting it carefully back in the book, “state your proposition and I’ll listen to it, because you have listened so patiently to me.”

Mr. Merrick in simple words explained the plan to take a hospital ship to Europe, relating the incidents that led up to the enterprise and urging the need of prompt action.  His voice dwelt tenderly on his girls and the loyal support of young Jones.

Dr. Gys smoked and listened silently.  Then he picked up the telephone and called a number.

“Tell Hawkins I’ve abandoned that fishing trip,” he said.  “I’ve got another job.”  Then he faced Mr. Merrick.  His smile was not pretty, but it was a smile.