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The Gland Stealers

by Bertram Gayton · English · Gutenberg #48975 · 486,759 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Gland Stealers

Author: Bertram Gayton


        
Release date: May 16, 2015 [eBook #48975]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLAND STEALERS ***

THE GLAND STEALERS




WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT


Gran'pa is ninety-five, possessed of £100,000, a fertile
imagination, and a good physique. He sees in the papers accounts of
the theory of rejuvenation by means of gland-grafting.

Nothing will satisfy him but that the experiment should be made
upon himself. He acquires a gorilla, a hefty murderous brute, and
the operation is performed with success. That is only the beginning.

He next determines to dig out an old love, and make her young, too;
and Sally, a dear old lady of seventy, arrives upon the scene.

Inspired to philanthropy by the thrill of regained youth, Gran'pa
decides to take a hundred or so old men to Africa, capture a like
number of gorillas, and borrow their glands.

There are thrilling adventures with the gorillas, whilst the
old gentlemen supply the comedy--there are not enough glands to
go round. The result of the operations is a surprise to all,
particularly to the old gentlemen themselves.




THE GLAND STEALERS

BY BERTRAM GAYTON

[Illustration]

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1922

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PRINTED BY THE J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.




TO MARGUERITA




CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                                              PAGE
       I.  GRAN'PA HEARS THE NEWS                         9
      II.  GRAN'PA BUYS A MONKEY                         24
     III.  WE INSPECT ALFRED                             38
      IV.  THE AVENUE HAS A SURPRISE                     53
       V.  THE DUG-OUT IN THE GARDEN                     72
      VI.  GRAN'PA REFORMS                               86
     VII.  MR. STRINGER COMES TO BREAKFAST               98
    VIII.  WE SET OUT FOR BRISTOL                       114
      IX.  GRAN'PA DIGS UP AN OLD ROMANCE               132
       X.  THE MASSING OF THE ANCIENTS                  151
      XI.  THE GORILLA COUNTRY                          169
     XII.  IN THE JUNGLE                                189
    XIII.  THE GORILLA AT HOME                          217
     XIV.  THE CAPTURE OF LITTLE WILLIE                 237
      XV.  A GORILLA BREAKS LOOSE                       254
     XVI.  THE ANCIENTS CAST LOTS                       274
    XVII.  SALLY SLIPS BACK                             294




THE GLAND STEALERS




CHAPTER I

GRAN'PA HEARS THE NEWS


I have never been able to understand why my great grandfather--an
American, born and bred--left the States at the decrepit age of
ninety-four and came to live with me in England.

His own explanation was that the decision arose from a natural desire
to end his days with his only living relation--even if such an action
entailed residing at the North Pole!

Although he did not anticipate an early demise, he apparently wished
to be prepared, and to know that when the important event did occur
he would be gathered to his fathers straight from the bosom of his
family--or, at least, what was left of it since the death of his son in
New York.

I was flattered; but not convinced. I knew that he was extremely proud
of his country and had never forgiven my parents for their indiscretion
in allowing me to be born in London, thereby presenting an extra
citizen to England without any effort on her part.

More unforgivable still, neither my parents nor I had ever returned to
America.

In spite of the suddenness of grandpa's arrival and the extremity of
his age, for over a year we lived amicably together. Except for a
tendency to be deaf and wilful at times, he gave little trouble. He ate
very little, he said very little, and he listened only when shouted
at. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to describe my home--at that
time--as a true haven of rest.

Picture it! There was Gran'pa, aged ninety-five--a nodder by the
fire, a mumbler of tedious trifles, a scoffer at the present, but a
relic of the past; there was myself, aged thirty-two--a widower, a
respectable salaried official, moderately lazy and living principally
and peacefully for the day (because there was not much to look forward
to in the morrow); there was Molly, my twelve-year-old offspring--a
long-legged schoolgirl, who ought to have been born a boy (like most
girls of this generation); and there was Nanny, aged anything over
fifty--the white-haired, sweet-tempered, motherly old thing who had
been one of the "supers" present at my initial entrance on the world's
stage.

There we were, the four of us! We never quarrelled, or argued,
or indulged in riotous living, or suffered want, or did anything
particularly exciting. We went on from day to day and from night to
night like most of the other 40,000 people in our suburb. Big things
happened in New York, in London, in Paris, in Moscow, in Berlin--or in
the wide heavens above and the sea beneath--and we read journalistic
and exaggerated accounts of these events in the morning papers,
with mild interest and occasional emotion. We were just one of the
individual family vertebræ of that middle class backbone which has
made England the nation that it is--a rather self-centred, fairly
intelligent, and very inquisitive community.

Then came that innocent-looking newspaper announcement concerning the
new theory of rejuvenation by means of glandular graftings. It ran as
follows:--

  OLD TO BE MADE YOUNG.

  ELIXIR OF LIFE IN MONKEY GLANDS.

  (_From Our Own Correspondent._)

  PARIS, Wednesday.


  At the Surgery Congress to-day the amazing statement was made that
  human life may be prolonged far beyond the allotted span by means
  of grafting young healthy glands, which will either replace or
  repair those deteriorated through old age.

  A scientist has already succeeded in grafting some interstitial
  glands (the secretions of which hold the source of vital forces) to
  old goats and rams, which soon recovered their youth and vigor.

  He is of the opinion that his laboratory experiments can be
  introduced into the operating theatre, and considers that an
  interstitial gland of a monkey grafted on an old man will restore
  him his youth.

  It is interesting to note that five years ago the thyroid glands
  taken from a monkey were grafted on to a boy of fourteen, who was
  an idiot. The result was absolutely successful, for two years later
  the boy became completely normal and in 1917 went into the Army.
  . . .

I read it--as did most of my 40,000 suburban fellow-citizens--with a
detached and half-incredulous feeling of, "Tut! tut! Whatever will they
be up to next?"

After a moment's consideration, I put the paper in my pocket, intending
presently to burn it. Gran'pa was a doddering old man who was always
adopting the "If-only-I-were-twenty-years-younger" pose. He had tried
many nostrums and followed much advice, with varying success, and I
thought that it would be inadvisable for him to read of this latest
and most nonsensical theory. It would only make him restless and
fidgety. So it seemed best to burn the newspaper and keep the matter
quiet.

I was reckoning without two things, however--modern journalism and
modern children. The papers started booming the discovery, it caught
Molly's eye, and Molly passed on a particularly lurid account of it to
Gran'pa. Her method was simple and tactful. She cut the article out and
dropped it in Gran'pa's bedroom.

The next morning, an open volume of _The Encyclopædia Britannica_
lay on the breakfast table, and, looking through its pages in deep
contemplation, was Gran'pa, so engrossed and so deaf that he was
evidently unaware of my presence in the room.

I crept up behind him, peered over his shoulder, and caught sight of
the word--"GLANDERS," and then--"GLANDS."

I was about to speak (or cough) when Molly entered. He shut the book
with a snap, stood up, heaved a deep sigh, and cleared his throat.

"George," he said, "I found a newspaper cutting in my bedroom when I
was dressing this morning. Whose is it?"

I hesitated. It was very deplorable to have to give one's only daughter
away; but I saw no help for it.

"I'm afraid," I explained, in great, gusty shouts, "that Molly must
have dropped it last night. She went into your bedroom for something
and . . ." I paused for more breath.

"Whassat?" he asked, with a trumpet-shaped hand to his ear.

I again went over the explanation of this most unfortunate occurrence,
and he grasped it hazily and suspiciously, as a man whose eyes are
seeking to fathom the interior of a darkened room.

"I don't know how it got there," he mumbled. "But--George--I'm _glad_!"

He looked at me searchingly, and for the first time I seemed to see
him as he really was--a rather pathetic, bent old man, bowed with the
weight of a great invisible something--a shadow--a menace! But even as
he stood there, his body suddenly straightened itself and his eyes lit
up with a strange brightness. It was as though a quick flutter of youth
had run through his veins.

"You've read it?" he asked.

"Yes," I confessed.

"Do you think it--possible?"

It was obvious that great tact was required in framing an answer to
such a question.

"I shouldn't like to say. It's possible, perhaps; but it seems
extremely improbable. These doctors and scientists are always
experimenting on the human body. And yet--are we any better than we
were a thousand years ago?"

It was not clear whether he had caught the gist of my reply, and for a
long time he remained silent and thoughtful.

"I've been readin' in _The Encyclopædia Britannica_ about
those--glands," he said, a little sheepishly. "It's a queer thing that
I've never noticed them before. That newspaper article isn't as foolish
as you think, George."

"You misunderstood me, sir. What I said was . . ."

"You're too sceptical, my boy!"

It seemed strange to hear the old accusing the young of scepticism, but
I let it pass.

"One reads of so many new ideas nowadays," I remarked, weakly.

"That's true. But there have been some big things done since I was a
lad. I remember the first railway at home; the bicycle, the pneumatic
tire, and then--the first motor car. Now there's the aeroplane. Flying!
That's wonderful, George!"

"It is!"

"All this inoculation, too. . . . That's happened in my lifetime.
You seldom see people scarred with smallpox, nowadays. When I was a
youngster . . ." He fell into reminiscences, those peculiar mental
rakings over the buried past. "It seems only the other day that my
father took me by stage-coach from New York to Boston. No subways,
then--all that vast subterranean burrowing was unthought of. . . .
The suggestion of such a thing would have been enough to send a man
to the nearest lunatic asylum. . . . Chloroform, cocaine--all the
paraphernalia of modern surgery and medicine. You can't realize the
surgeon of my young days. He was merely a glorified butcher. . . . Had
to be!"

As I listened, he related a gruesome account of some poor wretch,
whose only hope of living was by the amputation of a leg. But at
the last moment the man's courage failed and he burst the straps of
the operating table, rushed from the room, up the stairs, and into
an attic, where he locked himself in, screaming maledictions and
threats at the astounded staff who were swarming in pursuit. This
terror-stricken flight was surely horrible enough, but it was still
more ghastly to hear of how the huge six-foot surgeon hurled himself at
the door, burst it open and sprang on the frightened, shivering wretch.
Fighting like a maniac, the victim was eventually bound and carried
downstairs--again to face the horrors of that life-saving operation in
all its cold-blooded and brutal reality.

"Try and picture such a scene to-day, George," continued the old man.
"How many people would face one-tenth of the ordeals of my young
days? And yet how many bother to say as much as 'Thank you!' All the
wonderful discoveries which have been made, even in my little lifetime,
are taken for granted now. The electric light, the telegraph, the
telephone, wireless . . . I could mention a thousand other things."

He paused, and, in the breathing space which followed, I again saw him
in a new light. He was no longer the poor, doddering old man, mumbling
incoherent nothings and drowsing his life away by the fireside, but
a fellow-creature whose brain was afire with vivid thoughts and
memories--a living soul, even though it was caged in a dying and
encumbering body. If only he could have shaken off the dulness of
physical infirmity and regained possession of himself once more! It was
a stupendous thought. . . .

"You think I'm talking like a foolish old man," he said, suddenly
breaking into my reverie. "But if you'd seen only a quarter of what I
have, you wouldn't doubt for a moment. . . ."

Once again that extraordinary suggestion of sceptical youth and
credulous age! Had I been mistaken in the old man, and judged him only
by his physical inertia, never guessing that many of those long silent
days of his by the fireside or in the shaded garden were periods of
intense mental activity?

Here was Gran'pa, talking as he had never done before--at any rate,
never since I had known him. Here was I, suddenly realizing his immense
potentialities at ninety-five--merely because he had dropped his
customary reticence and loosened his tongue.

"Gran'pa," I said. "Don't you think you are taking this a little too
seriously . . . ?"

He glared at me from beneath his great, projecting eyebrows.

"_No!_" he croaked, excitedly. "Plenty of other discoveries have been
far more marvellous, but I've ignored them at the time because they
weren't of immediate importance. This is different. It's a . . .
tremendous and magnificent hope--a sort of light in the darkness,
George. . . . Some will be too apathetic or ignorant to notice; some
too tired and lonely to care; and some so ill and battered that death
is far more pleasant than life. But a few, like myself, will see it
as one of the greatest miracles of modern science, and they will take
advantage of it. . . ."

He ceased abruptly--as if his mind had driven the creaking mechanism of
his body to the verge of a breakdown. A fit of coughing seized him, he
clutched at the back of his arm-chair, and with a shuddering sigh he
sank down into this throne of contemplation which had become so great a
necessity to his existence.

For awhile I thought that he was really ill, and poor little wide-eyed
Molly ran to me and hung on to my sleeve, feeling no doubt that she was
responsible for this sudden and unexpected outburst which had at last
ended in physical collapse.

"Get me the brandy, dear," I said, placing my hands under Gran'pa's
arms and raising him from his huddled position of insecurity.

As Molly crossed over to the sideboard he tried to rise, only to drop
back again, exhausted and breathless. His face was deadly white, his
hands shook, and his jaws fell apart as if the last vestige of his
strength had gone.

I took the bottle from Molly, hurriedly tipped some of its contents
into the nearest cup, and tilted back Gran'pa's head, literally using
his throat as a funnel into which I poured the brandy.

A convulsive movement followed and I was fearful that he might expire.
It was like one of those moments when the crank of some huge engine
dramatically pauses, and one is uncertain whether the fly-wheel will
stop or gradually begin to pick up speed again. To this day I believe
that it was "touch and go" with his life, those few drops of brandy
providing just that tiny fillip required to set the wheels of existence
in motion again.

"Thank God!" I breathed, as his mouth closed and his eyelids fluttered.

Molly was behind me, making peculiar little whimpering noises, and,
taking hold of my hand, she pressed it tightly against her hot cheek. I
stooped down and kissed her--poor little, frightened girl!

"Run into the kitchen to Nanny," I whispered. "But--not a word!"

"No, Daddy. . . ."

She went out and, with a sudden start, Gran'pa sat up.

"What was I saying?" he asked, feebly.

The question sounded so ludicrous that I couldn't help laughing.

"Oh! You were--just chatting about old times."

"Was I?"

He smoothed his long white beard with a trembling, blue-veined hand
and then ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his
forehead, and looking extremely puzzled.

"There was something else though. . . ." he said, searching in his
confused and troubled mind. "Ah! I remember, now! Those glands!"

"For Heaven's sake," I shouted, "leave 'em alone until you've had
breakfast. You've all the day before you."

"That's true, George!"

"Don't start getting excited again."

"Was I?"

"I should think you were indeed! Look at that brandy bottle."

He did as he was told, but was evidently still mystified as to exactly
what had happened.

"Have I--been drinking?" he asked, with a chuckle.

"No! I had to _pour_ the stuff down your throat."

"But why?"

"Because--my dear old great-grandfather--you nearly fainted."

"You don't say so! Good job it didn't happen in the States. I might
have died!"

He treated the matter so flippantly that I found it difficult to keep
my temper.

"It's not advisable to start the day with so much excitement," I
pointed out. "It's bad for the appetite--especially yours."

"Never felt better in my life, George!"

("That's the brandy!" I thought.)

He stood up, a little shakily perhaps, but certainly with no indication
that he had stumbled so near to Death's door.

"I must take it quietly to-day," he said, realizing his weakness now
that he was on his feet again.

I encouraged him in this idea, hoping that by the following morning
he would have forgotten the whole affair, and when I left to catch my
train there seemed to be every likelihood of this fervent desire being
fulfilled. To-morrow, he would be nodding by the fireside as of old,
and glands and monkeys and professors would all be part of a very hazy
and negligible past.

It was a consoling thought, but, unfortunately, events shaped
themselves quite differently.

When I arrived home about six o'clock the following evening there was
an air of consternation in the home. Nanny and Molly both met me at the
door with long, solemn faces.

"Hullo!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with you two?"

The first to answer was the dear old soul who had taken the place of
both nurse and mother to Molly for practically the whole of the child's
life.

"Have you seen anything of Mr. Hadley?" she asked.

"No!"

"He went out just after lunch to get some tobacco and hasn't come back
yet."

"That's strange. He's not usually out so long as that, is he?"

"He's never been away more than about an hour at a time before."

"Didn't he _say_ anything, Nanny?"

"Only that he wanted some more tobacco."

I went into the dining-room, intending to glance through the evening
post before proceeding further, and, as I picked up the first letter,
my eye suddenly fell on the old man's pouch lying on the mantelpiece.
I stepped over to it and pinched it.

"This is very peculiar!" I said. "Here is his pouch--simply bursting
with 'baccy.'"

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Nanny.

"I must go out and see if I can find him. If not, we must communicate
with the police at once."

"Can I come with you, Daddy?" cried Molly.

"If you're quick."

She raced upstairs and I could hear the sound of hurried movements
overhead.

"You'd better keep dinner back for half-an-hour or so, Nanny. I wish
you'd 'phoned me."

"I expected him back every minute. It was such a nice day that I
thought he might have gone up to your office."

"But he's never done such a thing before. What on earth made you think
that, Nanny?"

"He was saying this morning that he'd like to go over there one of the
first fine days."

More mysterious than ever!

At that moment Molly re-entered the room and--the bell rang!

Everyone knows that queer thrill which follows the sudden tinkle of
a bell in the midst of a serious conversation about some friend or
relative in trouble. The sound seemed to run through every vein in my
body.

I hurried to the door and flung it open, expecting Heaven knows what
after an old man of ninety-five had been away in the streets for over
five hours.

"Yes?" I said, peering into the dark.

"I hope I haven't kept dinner waiting, George," came the answer.

It was Gran'pa!

"Where on earth have you been?" I yelled.

He came into the hall and I switched on the light.

"I went out for some tobacco and a little stroll. But it was such a
lovely day that I thought I'd take a 'bus ride up to town." He fumbled
in his overcoat pocket and beckoned to Molly, who was standing staring
at him from the dining-room doorway. "Here's a present for you,
Mollikins!"

She didn't need a second invitation to bestir herself.

"Oh! You darling old Gran'pa!" she cried, running up to him. "Whatever
is it?"

She felt the paper wrapping with childish curiosity and interest, tore
off the string and rapidly exposed the contents.

It was a little Chinese god in white ivory--as delicate a bit of work
as any I had seen.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it--_scrumptious_!"

"That's very nice of you, Gran'pa!" I bellowed. "Where did you find it?"

He hesitated.

"In a Regent Street shop," he said, at last, beginning to remove his
hat and coat.

I regret to say that I did not believe him. That ugly little brute of
an idol had either been discovered in a Chinese curio shop in the East
End, or purchased from some sailor in the neighborhood of the Docks. It
was so thoroughly typical of that quarter and so unusual a present to
bring home from Regent Street, that I was convinced Gran'pa had lied in
his beard.

More than that, his whole manner was mysterious and secretive. He had
an air of wanting to get away from us--or get us away from him--or,
failing that, to get our thoughts away from his five-hour absence from
home.

"I'll just pop upstairs and have a wash," he mumbled.

Washing for dinner--at ninety-five! Of course, he _had_ done such
things before. . . .

I looked at Nanny; and she looked at me.

"He's been up to something," I said. "I don't like it a bit."

"Oh, well," she remarked, in her practical way. "He's home safe and
sound again. We must be grateful for that!"

"Possibly! Still, I hope he isn't going to make a habit of these
afternoon jaunts."

I escorted Molly and her little heathen god into the dining-room, where
we awaited the arrival of Gran'pa and dinner.

When he came downstairs again he looked very flushed and excited,
and, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn't help associating his
appearance with that terrible morning when he had first read about the
glandular rejuvenation of the human race. Had his absence anything to
do with this? Where had he really been? And, why?

Although I questioned him with great tact he was obstinately
uncommunicative--even stone-deaf at times!

"A little 'bus ride in town, George," he murmured, over the soup, "is a
great appetizer, you know."

I do believe the wicked old sinner was actually laughing up his sleeve
at me.

"Any other purchases besides the idol, Gran'pa?" I shouted.

His eyes twinkled and he wiped his moustache on his napkin and leaned
back contentedly.

"Perhaps it would be as well. . . ."

Then he appeared to think better of what he was going to say and added:

"I did make another little purchase from a sailor I met, but it won't
be along until to-morrow."

"Then you _have_ been into the East End?" I cried, jubilantly.

"Who said I had?"

"Nobody! But I guessed it!"

At that, he suddenly became quiet and extremely deaf. Evidently, he
had gone further than he had intended, and for the rest of the evening
he maintained an air of contemplative silence, broken once or twice by
mumbled protests that he was very tired.

So it came about that both Molly and I had to wait until the next day
before our curiosity was satisfied.

Returning home about six o'clock as usual, I let myself in and began
leisurely removing my coat. I had just hung it up on the hall stand
when the kitchen door opened and Nanny emerged in a great hurry. She
was followed by a scuffling noise, a squeak, and then a loud crash of
breaking crockery. It sounded just as if she had suddenly let out the
fury of some miniature tornado which was hustling round a china shop.

"Good Lord!" I gasped. "What is it?"

"Oh!" she said. "It's--that nasty little monkey which came this
afternoon. _Oh--h!_"

As she rushed past me I saw a small, active brown body leap on to the
dresser, seize a chunk of bread in its paws and then drop to the floor
again, with Gran'pa and Molly in wild pursuit.




CHAPTER II

GRAN'PA BUYS A MONKEY


As Nanny shot past me into the dining-room and slammed the door behind
her, I strode forward into the kitchen. There followed a scene I shall
never forget.

Molly was standing on a chair, shouting and laughing. Gran'pa was on
his hands and knees, fishing about under the table and making peculiar
little coaxing noises; and in the centre of the room was the cat, with
arched back and erect and angry-looking tail.

"_Gran'pa!_" I shouted--at the top of my voice.

He withdrew his head from beneath the tablecloth, his long, picturesque
white beard trailing grotesquely on the polished linoleum, and his
whole attitude and appearance as near to the monkey kingdom as ever I
had seen them.

"What in Heaven's name do you think you are doing?" I bellowed.

Before he could answer, there was a scuttling sound under the table;
the cat vanished, and the monkey suddenly dashed out of cover, made
straight for me and flung its arms round my right leg.

"Get away, you brute!" I yelled, trying to shake it off.

"Oh, Daddy, darling!" cried Molly, "isn't he sweet?"

"_Sweet!_" I thought, wildly. "This is a nice home-coming for a man
after a hard day's work in town."

Stooping down, I tried to dislodge the little brute's grip on my
trouser-leg, but the effort ended in failure. It had evidently found
what it thought was a refuge from further pursuit--and there it meant
to stay!

"Come and get him off!" I shouted at Gran'pa.

The old man crawled quickly towards me, took hold of the monkey's tail
and pulled!

It was then that I indulged in my first laugh that evening. There was a
quick snarl from the monkey, a shout from Gran'pa, and the next moment
Molly and I were witnessing the thrilling spectacle of a tug-of-war in
which Gran'pa's beard and the monkey's tail were the chief objects of
interest.

"_Leggo!_" cried the old man. "Ah! You would--would you?"

I saw the gleam of white teeth as the monkey tried more drastic methods
on Gran'pa's arm, the sudden flash of a human hand as it reached out
and cuffed the animal's head, and then a sort of rough-and-tumble on
the linoleum.

For about twenty seconds it was difficult to discern which was man and
which was monkey. Then the antagonists separated. There was a whoop and
a snarl, and a moment later the monkey was gazing down at us from the
top shelf of the kitchen dresser.

One would have thought that Gran'pa might have taken advantage of this
little respite; but, no! Either he was intensely vindictive, or else he
was fearful of his antagonist escaping.

"Lend me that chair, Molly!" he shouted.

He shuffled over to it, took it in his hands and approached the dresser.

"You'll get bitten!" I warned him.

("And serve you Jolly well right!" I added, under my breath.)

Undeterred, however, he placed the chair carefully in position and
prepared to mount.

The monkey eyed him for a moment with an interest which quickly merged
into intelligent anticipation. Scrambling further away from its
pursuer, it paused, looked over its shoulder and then suddenly reached
down to the next shelf and seized a plate.

"_Whoa!_" I shouted.

CRASH!

Another and another plate descended in rapid, nerve-shattering
succession.

"I say!" I cried. "This is getting beyond a joke. There won't be a
piece of whole china left in the place if we aren't quick. . . . Molly!
Go and fetch me that empty potato sack out of the pantry."

She rushed out of the room and Gran'pa and the monkey remained very
still, watching each other with malicious intent.

"For goodness sake don't move," I pleaded, "or the brute will only
begin again."

Gran'pa controlled himself and presently Molly returned with the sack.

But even now it was not as easy as it looked. Here was the sack, and
there was the monkey. How to get the latter into the former was a feat
requiring the magic art of conjuring.

I tried honeyed expressions, and even offered a succession of such
things as bread, cake, a banana, a handful of walnuts, and an apple.
But the monkey didn't show even the mildest interest. It was a most
suspicious little beast!

"You and Molly must hold the sack out," I said to Gran'pa. "Like
this--with the mouth wide open! Now I'll scrape him into it."

The old man and Molly caught hold of opposite sides of the sack and
gently tiptoed their way to the dresser, whilst I picked up the coal
shovel and mounted the chair.

"Now," I whispered. "Get right underneath him. . . . Ready?"

I recalled that verse of the Psalms: "_Thou shalt smite him in his
hinder parts and put him to shame._"

Raising the long-handled shovel, I slid it quickly along the back of
the top shelf and gave a powerful forward thrust as it reached the
monkey.

There was a little squeak of pained surprise, a clatter of falling
plates and metal, the thud of a soft body on the floor--not in the
sack!--and then a brown streak crossed the linoleum in a diagonal line
from dresser to door.

"Quick!" I cried. "He'll be out!"

The spirit of the chase was now burning in me like a flame. I dashed
across the kitchen in wild pursuit. But it was too late.

A metallic clatter came from the pantry, another squeak, and the little
brute vanished through the open window in a whirl of scurrying arms and
legs.

I turned to Molly, as she hurriedly entered, and explained, simply:

"That is through not shutting the door after you."

"Has he gone, Daddy? Oh! What a shame! . . ."

She was on the verge of tears and evidently regarded the monkey's
escape principally as the loss of a possible pet for herself.

We went outside into the gathering dusk.

"It's hopeless trying to catch him now," I observed. "He's probably
grinning down at us from the top of the walnut tree--thinking what
fools we are."

We stared up at the dark tangle of leaves and branches and presently
Gran'pa joined us, looking very flushed and gloomy.

"I expect he's up there!" I shouted, pointing heavenwards.

He made no reply, his emotions no doubt being far too deep for words.

"Look!" cried Molly. "I can see something moving."

I gazed aloft and at last made out a shadow-like form hauling itself
leisurely upwards--and upwards. . . . It was so exasperating that for
one mad moment I even thought of climbing in pursuit.

"Come along!" I said, at last. "Nothing but a shot gun will ever fetch
him down again. He has enough nuts up there for a lifetime."

Gran'pa looked at me miserably.

"_Confounded nuisance!_" he mumbled. "That monkey cost me five pounds,
George. . . ."

"_Did_ it, now?"

"Yes!"

"Whatever made you get the beastly thing?"

The reason was obvious, but I felt angry at all this disturbance being
suddenly thrust into my orderly and peaceful life, and took a cruel
delight in seeing the old man's discomfort.

"You _know_ why I got it," he snapped.

"You were after its interstitial glands," I retaliated. "I don't think
it's right and proper."

He drew himself up, defiantly.

"May I ask why?" he inquired with elaborate calm.

"Well, it seems inhuman to go about cutting up monkeys and things to
get hold of their glands. I hope to goodness the neighbors don't get to
hear of it."

He glanced at me.

"George," he said, quietly. "Since I've been living with you we've
never started quarrelling, and I don't intend to; but I mean to go on
with this. I'm an old man and I'm determined to test that new theory.
It is in my own interests and in the interests of science. If you
object, say so--and I'll leave the house this very night."

"You aren't serious, Gran'pa . . . ?"

"I mean every word."

"Then there's no more to be said. Naturally, though, I don't like
disturbances of this sort. It's not pleasant to come home and
find one's housekeeper in hysterics, Molly half off her head with
excitement, yourself capering about like a lad of ten, the cat rampant
and distracted, the kitchen turned into a menagerie, and pieces of my
best china flying about like shells in a bombardment."

"You needn't worry about the last. I can easily replace the
crockery--if that's your main grievance."

"Not at all! But you must admit . . ."

"I'll admit anything _and_ apologize for it, if necessary. But I won't
be dictated to."

"I'm sorry, Gran'pa. . . ."

"That's all right, my boy. Only, don't let us squabble about this most
unfortunate mishap."

He gazed wistfully at the dark branches of the walnut tree, where his
hope of rejuvenation was perched in security and ease.

"Let us go indoors," he said, at last. "It is useless waiting here any
longer!"

We reentered the house.

"Nanny!" I called out.

The dining-room door opened.

"Come along!" I said. "All clear!"

She returned to the kitchen, looking very scared and dubious.

"Where--is it?"

"Up in the walnut-tree."

"Thank goodness!"

Gran'pa winced at her selfish way of viewing his misfortune.

"I don't think the brute will worry you again," I whispered. "It'll
probably be miles away by to-morrow morning. But you'd better keep the
windows shut to-night. They're such inquisitive little beasts."

Molly and I withdrew to the dining-room, Gran'pa shuffling and mumbling
after us.

He was clearly upset at the sudden failure of his plans, and I could
not help sympathizing with him. That previous day's search in the East
End for a gentleman with a monkey for sale must have been a strenuous
enough undertaking at his age, but the skylarking in the kitchen
must have been a still greater strain. Nothing but Gran'pa's intense
enthusiasm for the cause could possibly have supplied such tremendous
motive power to a man of ninety-five. His endurance, his persistence,
and his unswerving faith and optimism had been extraordinary from the
very moment he had read that article. For the first time since his
arrival in England, he seemed to have waked up. It was, indeed, more
than a little sad to think that such industry had ended in failure.

"D'you intend offering a reward for the monkey's recovery?" I asked.

"Certainly!"

"Isn't it unwise? You'll only have people talking."

"What about? There's no reason why a man can't keep a monkey if he
wants to. Nothing very startling in that."

"Perhaps not. But you must know that this theory of the interstitial
glands is in all the papers. Everyone is talking about it. They'd
immediately associate your extreme age with . . ."

"George!" he interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to be funny at my expense?"

"Of course I'm not, Gran'pa. I'm merely pointing out the ordinary,
everyday view which people will take. You're so carried away by your
enthusiasm that I think you don't realize some of the dangers incurred."

"Danger? What danger?"

"Over-excitement is one of them. Public ridicule another."

He snapped his fingers.

"_That_--to both of 'em."

"Suppose the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals steps in?" I
suggested.

"Society of Fiddlesticks. My life is worth more than a wretched little
monkey's."

"I quite agree. But will everyone hold the same opinion if you go
through with this--butchery of defenceless apes?"

I thought that I had found a weak spot in his armor at last; but I was
mistaken. These last few days had wrought a miraculous change in him.
Physically, he was much the same; but, mentally, he seemed to be an
entirely different man. To put the matter crudely but vividly, his mind
now had "ginger" in it. It was alive, active, rebellious, uncannily
penetrating.

"George!" he said. "I want a quiet talk with you. It's about time, too!
I seem to have been sitting in that chair for years without making
a murmur. And you've thought my brains were dead. It must be this
confounded climate of yours. But I'll show you."

He suddenly stopped and looked at Molly.

"I'm going to have a word with your father," he said. "Run in to Nanny
for a few minutes, my dear."

As she left the room I had the feeling that something ominous was going
to happen. I filled my pipe, lit it, sat down on the edge of the table
and waited.

He did not speak for a few moments, but stood pulling pensively at his
long, bushy beard--stroking and smoothing it as if it was the seat of
all his wild unrest. It looked so quaint to see this poor, bent old
grandfather of mine preparing to bully me, that I could hardly refrain
from smiling. And yet there was something in his manner which demanded
respect and attention.

"It's difficult to speak one's mind, George, after all the
kindness you've shown me since I've been in England," he began,
half-apologetically.

There was another long and contemplative pause, more tugging at his
beard--and more curiosity on my part. But presently he broke free of
his fetters and went straight ahead.

"Have you ever wished I were dead?" he asked, abruptly. "Don't be
afraid to answer!"

"In moments of anger or weakness," I began tentatively, "I may--once or
twice. . . ."

"Ah! That's nothing!"

It was very broad-minded of him to make such an admission, but I still
couldn't see what he was driving at.

"What I mean is this, George," he went on. "Have you ever wished me
dead because of my money?"

I started, hesitated a second, and then said:

"_No!_"

"You've never thought how much better off you'll be when I'm dead and
gone? Never wished I'd--get a move on?"

"Naturally, I've realized that you'd leave most of your money to me,
but I've never . . ."

"Then you must be different from everyone else. The young are always
waiting for the old to die and leave them something."

"That is rather sweeping!"

"Nonsense! Don't be a hypocrite. I had just the same inclination when I
was young--at any rate about distant relatives--like yourself and me,
for instance."

"That is no reason why you should accuse me of such sentiments," I
cried, rather testily.

"It is only telling you that you're human."

I refused to argue the matter.

"Well?" I said. "What's the object of all this palaver?"

"That's what I'm coming to. We can take it for granted that even if
you're not anxious for me to . . . pack up, you won't be very sorry
when I _have_ gone."

Again I started to protest, but he stopped me.

"Mind, I'm not such a fool as to blame you, for I do realize these
things. So I intend altering them. I'm going to turn your inclination
the other way. Not only will you _want_ me to live, but it's going to
be made positively worth your while."

This sounded very exciting--but I thought it just as well not to say
so. I held my peace.

"My plan is quite simple," he resumed. "I intend going on with this
experiment and having some new glands grafted, but I must have your
help--your interest--your enthusiasm behind me. It is necessary at my
age to depend on someone's youthful and active support. So the day when
the operation is declared successful you will receive five thousand
dollars in cash."

I gasped, but he went on with reckless extravagance:

"I'm a much wealthier man than you have ever imagined, George--and
we'll both begin to take advantage of the fact at once. Twenty years
ago, when I went to end my days in peace under your grandfather's
hospitable roof, I was worth close on two hundred thousand dollars.
That's a good deal . . . but, wait!"

I did so--speechless and open-mouthed.

"I intended leaving him everything when I died, but . . . the fates
arranged otherwise. Then I came to live with you, when he was gone.
And here I am--still spared--and with the money still growing. My
expenditure was small; for, after all, there was little I wanted at my
age beyond an easy chair by the fireside . . . food and comfort . . .
and tobacco, of course. So it came about that nearly every penny of my
dividends has been reinvested during the last twenty years, and to-day
I'm worth . . . what do you think?"

I couldn't think. I was far too amazed at Gran'pa's sudden disclosure
of the extent of his worldly wealth after all the years of secrecy
before he came to England.

"I shouldn't like to say," I stammered. "But it must be some nest egg!"

"Well over half a million dollars," he announced, quietly. "There! I've
put all my cards on the table, at last, and I suggest five thousand
dollars down for you, and then--ten thousand for each year I live.
_But_ . . . nothing when I die. How's that, George?"

He was actually laughing!

"It is--magnificent--staggering!" I exclaimed, trying to remember the
present rate of exchange. "But it's silly to make such a proposition."

"Is it? We shall see!"

"You could rely on my help in any case."

"I believe you. In spite of it, however, I think you'll agree that our
interests will be identical in future."

It would have been futile to dispute such a statement.

"I'm with you heart and soul in this gland business," I said. "I always
was, but . . ."

"Now, George, admit that you're keener than you were."

"Willingly!" I laughed.

"Shake on it!"

We shook! Ninety-five and Thirty-two shook hands on one of the
strangest and most thrilling bargains ever made. Some people might have
called me mercenary, but, as Gran'pa had said, I was only human, and he
really was a nuisance at times! This new arrangement was bound to make
me take a keener interest in his welfare.

"Now," he said, "we won't count the first move in the game. That
monkey's gone for good. It is your turn. . . . Come along, George!"

I considered the matter for several minutes before I spoke.

"Well," I suggested, at last, "we must first find an up-to-date surgeon
who's willing to undertake the job. . . . Next, we must get another
monkey--a bigger and better one than that scrubby little brute you
bought yesterday. I'm in favor of a gorilla, or an ourang-outang,
something with active and powerful internal organs. . . . Then we want
a list of the glands you're most likely to require. I don't think an
entire outfit would be advisable at first. One should go carefully
in such matters--starting with, perhaps, two or three new glands. If
they're a success you can extend the enterprise. . . . There's no
reason, for instance, why you shouldn't go one better than Nature and
have some of them in duplicate--a couple of pairs of each, say. I
believe they're all in pairs; but we can go into that later. It's a big
thing, and it will want a good deal of studying. . . ."

I found my enthusiasm growing.

"By Jove!" I cried. "This is going to be some experiment, Gran'pa!
Think of it! You're ninety-five--packed with memories and experiences;
crammed full of calm common-sense, a sort of perambulating encyclopædia
of acquired knowledge--the most valuable form of wisdom in the
world--but at present, you are hopelessly handicapped by physical
disabilities. Your senses are deadened, your mind is stupefied, your
. . ."

"Gently, George!"

But I couldn't help it. The possibilities underlying that
rejuvenescence were so great that the mere contemplation of them
carried me away.

"Remove all those degenerative influences, those bodily encumbrances,"
I went on, "and you have MIND triumphant. Even as you are, you're a
wonderful old man, but with youth on your side . . ."

"You flatter me, George! But it certainly is going to be a BIG THING!"

I was going to say more, but at that moment Nanny entered with the
first instalment of dinner.

"We'll begin to-morrow," I said.

Nanny stared at me in amazement, the tray trembling in her hands.

"I was speaking to Gran'pa," I explained.

She put the tray down and looked at both of us a little doubtfully.

"If this thing's a success," I thought, "perhaps Nanny would like a
new outfit, too. I should be sorry to lose her some day, and here's
a very simple solution of the difficulty. I'll speak to her about it
later. . . ."

We sat down to dinner and, presently, I drank to the success of
Gran'pa's great venture into the Unknown, to that prospective fight of
his against the muffling embrace of Old Age.

"May you regain your youth," I said, simply. "And your right hand
recover its strength and cunning. Here's to you, sir!"

Molly kicked me under the table and, when Gran'pa bent over his soup a
moment later, she made frenzied, interrogatory signs to me, with her
eyebrows lifted. I pretended not to understand.

"Daddy," she whispered, "is he going to have some of those
inter-stitches put in?"

I nodded.

"Oo-oo! Isn't it exciting!"

It certainly was! And Heaven alone knew where it would end. . . .




CHAPTER III

WE INSPECT ALFRED


It turned out later that Gran'pa had already approached half-a-dozen
medical men on the question of the operation, but they had all refused
to undertake such a case.

So the next day I had the following advertisement inserted in the Agony
Column of the _Times_:--

  IN THE INTERESTS OF SCIENCE.--Old gentleman of ninety-five, with A1
  brains but B1 physique, desires to get into touch with a reliable
  and enterprising surgeon, who believes in the new theory of
  rejuvenation, with a view to immediate Glandular Graftings.

I must admit that the wording was reminiscent of the typical
matrimonial appeal, but as the advertiser's identity was concealed from
the British public by means of a box number, it seemed to matter very
little what method was employed so long as the result was a success.

I am thankful to say that it was. In spite of my fears that
professional etiquette might stand in the way, I received over twenty
replies from medical men living in various parts of the country. All
of them were willing, and even anxious, to perform the operation, but
apparently not one was in possession of the necessary glands. This
was an annoying detail, but such setbacks appear to be inevitable
in the initial stages of all great enterprises. The day may come
when interstitial glands will form part of the medical, or rather,
physiological equipment of every practitioner in the land, but
meanwhile we had to hustle for ourselves.

So I advertised for a monkey as well.

"Gorilla, chimpanzee or ourang-outang wanted at once," I scribbled on a
scrap of notepaper.

Then I judiciously added:--

  "For travelling showman. Must be healthy and virile. State price
  and how long the animal has been resident in England."

A couple of days later half-a-dozen replies were received and Gran'pa
and I spent the evening in sorting out the most suitable doctor and
ape, preparatory to bringing them together in this novel "triangle" of
surgeon, man and monkey.

"You've done very well, George, so far," said Gran'pa. "That was a
bright idea of mine to offer you . . ."

"I've told you before, sir, that I should have helped in any case."

"Have it your own way, my boy. So long as I'm satisfied, what's it
matter?"

"Not a cent. But I won't have you thinking that greed is my only
motive. I'm keenly interested in the experiment for quite different
reasons. Firstly, you're a relative of mine, and I want to see you
happy and contented. Secondly, I feel like one of the pioneers or
patrons of modern science."

"You'll have the biggest chance of your life as still another sort of
pioneer, if this is a success."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Ah! It is just an idea, at present. But it'll set the world talking,
if I decide to take it up."

"Do tell me, Gran'pa!"

"No! One thing at a time, my boy. Just concentrate on getting that five
thousand dollars first, and . . ."

"Will you leave that infernal bonus out of the question!" I cried.

"I apologize! Just concentrate on my rejuvenation, then! Oh, by the
way, I want you to come round to my solicitor in the morning and sign
the agreement I've drawn up."

"You've done nothing so absurd, I hope, as to put this idiotic bargain
on paper."

"No! It's on parchment. I believe in everything being shipshape--in
case of accidents. Now, don't start arguing, George!"

Gran'pa is the most obstinate old man I know; so I refrained from
further discussion, and the following day repaired with him to his
solicitors at Lincoln's Inn.

There, we signed a contract which must have been unique in the annals
of legal literature. It ran thus:--

  MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT made this eighteenth day of October, One
  thousand nine hundred and twenty-one, BETWEEN GEORGE BARNETT
  and CHARLES HENRY HADLEY, both of Northcote, Airesdale Avenue,
  Richmond, in the County of Surrey.

  WHEREBY IT IS AGREED as follows:--

  1. George Barnett shall make himself reasonably conversant with
  the possibilities of rejuvenation by means of the grafting of
  interstitial glands; he shall do all that is in his power to hasten
  the application of the process to the said Charles Henry Hadley,
  to make arrangements for the operation; and to provide suitable
  comforts and accommodation during the patient's convalescence.

  2. Furthermore, George Barnett shall apply himself diligently
  to helping the said Charles Henry Hadley to maintain a state of
  healthy activity during the remaining years of the latter's life.

  3. In consideration of which, Charles Henry Hadley shall pay to
  George Barnett the following sums of money:

  (_a_) Five thousand dollars on the receipt of a medical certificate
  that the operation has been successful.

  (_b_) Ten thousand dollars for each whole year during which the
  said Charles Henry Hadley shall remain alive, commencing to reckon
  as from this date, and payment being made within one month after
  the expiration of each year.

  (_c_) On the death of Charles Henry Hadley, the said George Barnett
  or his heirs shall receive one-fiftieth part of the former's estate
  for each completed year of life.

  AS WITNESS the hands of both contracting parties.

We signed the document, and I turned to Gran'pa.

"Er--that clause about one-fiftieth part of the estate." I said. "Does
it mean that you expect to add another fifty years to your life?"

"It does!" he replied.

I whistled.

"Phew! I shall be a doddering old man myself by then."

"Nonsense! You'll avoid that by adopting my methods. Only you'll start
earlier in life."

"Never! When my glands give out--I shall!"

"The same sort of argument used to be brought forward about
vaccination--the 'Let-Nature-take-its-own-course' cry. . . . Even
to-day there are anti-vaccination cranks."

"That's different. Vaccination is a safeguard against disease."

"Quite so. And this is a safeguard against something much worse than
disease. It's an antidote to Death."

I could again feel the inclination to argue surging up in me, but I
remembered my dignity and desisted.

"I wish you would tell me about this other 'pioneer' stunt of yours," I
said, as we emerged into the sunlit courtyard.

"In the fulness of time."

"I'm terribly curious."

"You won't be able to contain yourself when you do know. It's been one
of your dreams--and mine. Well! You look like having your chance at
last, George. If only the new glands work," he added, in parenthesis.

There was a possibility, of course, that this other secret and alluring
project of Gran'pa's was merely a bait to keep my enthusiasm alive. I
suggested this to him, in the hope that he would relent and satisfy my
curiosity.

"No, George! You must be patient. If you'd lived as long as I have
you'd learn to take things in logical order. First the glands,
then--the glory!"

We had now reached the busy street again--a new world after the
peaceful vicinity of those old offices--and Gran'pa bought an evening
paper. He was always buying papers now!

Glancing hurriedly through the headings, he gave vent to a sudden
exclamation.

"Ah!"

"What is it?" I asked, looking over his shoulder.

He retreated into a doorway, sheltered from the stream of hurrying
pedestrians and there pointed to a heading:--

  TEST CASE.

And underneath:--

  EXPERIMENT ON AN AGED CONVICT.

I read the following details:--

  "A _Herald_ dispatch from San Francisco states that after a convict
  was hanged at San Quentin Penitentiary, yesterday, for the murder
  of his mother-in-law, the murderer's interstitial glands were cut
  out and transplanted in a sixty-year-old convict as an experiment
  for the purpose of verifying the recent theory of rejuvenation
  by this process. The doctors expect that new physical and mental
  strength will be thereby given to the aged convict."

"There you are!" cried Gran'pa. "That's the Americans all over. They've
begun already." He looked at me wistfully. "I did hope that I might
have had the honor of being the first."

"You'll be a good second, anyhow," I said encouragingly. "Cheer up!"

He was about to fold the paper and put it into his pocket, when we
caught sight of the following:--

  BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

  "Considerable excitement was caused in Upper Richmond Road,
  Richmond, this morning by a monkey suddenly dropping from the
  overhanging branch of a tree into the lap of a lady seated on the
  top of a passing 'bus.

  "Pursued by the other passengers, it scrambled down the rail at
  the rear and rushed across the street, where it tried to scale a
  garden wall. After a few minutes exciting chase, it was eventually
  captured by a constable, who, much to the amusement of the crowd,
  took it to the police station.

  "Questioned by our correspondent, the authorities stated that,
  although no charge had been preferred against the animal for
  causing an obstruction, it had been placed temporarily under lock
  and key, and is now awaiting its owner."

"Well, I'm . . . er . . . poor little brute!" exclaimed Gran'pa.

"Are you going to claim it?" I asked.

He hesitated a moment, but, brief as his contemplation of the
matter was, I think that he immediately realized the impossibility
of an old man of ninety-five calling at a police station for a
monkey--particularly at a time like the present. Naturally, his secret
would be guessed at once.

"No!" he said, with quiet dignity. "I shan't want it in any case, now.
They'll probably send it to the Dogs' Home at Battersea, or Scotland
Yard--or the Zoo. Let them! . . . Er . . . as I was going to say,
George, about that sixty-year-old convict, the Americans are a very
go-ahead race. I should like _you_ to pop over to the States some
day. . . ."

Already, he was beginning to look into the rosy future!

"We _must_ travel," he went on, pensively. "I'm getting bored. I've
always wanted to see the world, but when I was younger I hadn't
the money; and when I grew older I hadn't the necessary health and
vitality. Life is full of anomalies like that, George."

"It is," I agreed, ruefully.

"But this business will do away with such difficulties. There's a big
future before us."

I responded to that last word. It had a generous sound about it and
awoke ambitions I had buried over a dozen years ago, when an unkind
fate had allowed me to pass into the soul-destroying ranks of the Civil
Service. Ugh! How I had vegetated since that ghastly day on which the
list of "successful" candidates had been published! How the spirit of
adventure had been slowly suffocated! How flabby-minded I had become!
How mellow! But now at last there was a door opening. My red-tape-bound
soul stirred in its prison and peered out at a strip of sunlit country
where free men made of life a joyous adventure.

"You're a great man, Gran'pa," I said. "You make me feel quite old
beside you."

He dug me good-humoredly in the ribs.

"There are times, George, when I have thought you were rather a
stick-in-the-mud. But I've put it down to your job, and the fact that
you are British."

"I wish my brains had fizzled out in the examination room and I'd run
away to sea."

"Ah! That's the spirit. You'll be useless on this new job I shall have
for you, unless you're full of fire. It'll require courage, initiative
and plenty of _go_. There's only one member of the whole family who has
those qualities at present."

I waited for what I thought would be the inevitable reference to
himself. But it didn't come.

"You can't guess who it is, George?"

"No----!"

"It's Molly, of course. It was she who first put me on to this gland
business. That, if you like, required courage and initiative. There's a
great future before Molly. She's being lost in England, and I hope when
the time comes that she'll join us in the venture."

He still wouldn't tell me what this Great Idea was, but when I reached
home that evening a thought suddenly struck me. I went in search of
Molly, caught sight of her sitting on the top branch of the walnut
tree, and shouted for her to come down.

She descended slowly and carefully.

"You shouldn't have gone up there," I said. "It is very dangerous. I
thought you couldn't climb the walnut tree."

"Nor did I, till I tried hard, Daddy."

"How often have you done this?"

"Only twice. I thought the monkey might have built a nest."

I dared not tell her of its present abode in case she began clamoring
for its return. So I asked, innocently:

"And had he?"

"I don't think so. But it was fun up there! I wish you'd come, Daddy.
Gran'pa says _he_ will when he's got those new glands."

"That reminds me," I said. "Has he told you anything about what he
intends doing when he has the glands? I mean anything more important
than just climbing trees."

Molly looked down in pensive consideration. She had evidently been
caught unawares.

"Out with it, my child!"

"Daddy--I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I promised Gran'pa I wouldn't tell. He made me swear, like
this."

She moistened her right forefinger with the tip of her tongue and drew
an imaginary cross in front of her throat and chest. (The wicked old
sinner, intimidating my twelve-year-old offspring in this manner!)

"Are we all in this--little adventure?" I persisted.

She held her lips tightly together and stared at me in mute appeal.

Evidently we _were_ all in it! Her eyes shone and I could see that she
would have gloried in telling me. Nevertheless, for her oath's sake, I
pressed her no further.

"It's all very, very mysterious," I murmured.

"Never mind, Daddy," she whispered. "You'll soon know all about it!"

It was very good of her to try and soothe my wounded feelings thus, and
I felt more determined than ever to hasten that operation on Gran'pa
and reap the rich reward which was apparently awaiting all three of
us. Far too much time had already been wasted. To Gran'pa it may
have represented only one little negligible week in a life of nearly
a hundred years, but to me it seemed ages since my enthusiasm had
been first awakened. I was eager to complete the contract, to handle
that five thousand dollars, to witness the rejuvenation of my aged
ancestor-in-law, and, above all, to escape from my Government prison
into the great wide spaces of the earth.

As if in answer to my wild desires, Gran'pa came out and joined us in
the garden, waving a letter aloft in childish glee.

"Just come by post, George!" he cried.

"What has?"

"A note from that man with the gorilla. He wants us to go round and see
it this evening."

I read the letter with feverish interest. It was written on a scrap of
dirty paper with a blunt pencil, and told us that "Alfred" had been
landed in England only five weeks previously. He was in "excellent
health," as "hard as nails," extremely "vichous," but capable of being
"broken in and trained"--if that was what we wanted him for!

"This is the very thing!" I exclaimed, presently. "We'll go at once."

"But--dinner, George?" stammered Gran'pa.

"Oh! That can wait. He says between seven and eight. It is nearly seven
now, and it's silly to risk getting there too late."

We hurried indoors, bustled into our hats and coats, and made for the
station.

Three-quarters of an hour later we were ushered into the presence of
the "Great Animal King," a travelling showman of huge and formidable
dimensions, but with the manners of a babe.

"This 'ere animull, gentlemen," he explained, as though he was
addressing an audience at a fair, "is one as I bought about four weeks
ago at an auction sale. I wasn't really in need of it, as you might
say, but it was goin' pretty cheap, and I thought it might come in
'andy later on. An' now I 'ave got it, I can't bring myself to like
it, somehow. All the other animulls know me and, if I might say so, we
has a slight affection for one another. But this brute's the queerest
cuss I ever struck--ups and snarls at me every time I approaches the
cage, an' begins rattling the bars like a maniac. He's as quiet as a
mouse with the other chaps. It's me he don't seem to like." He spat
expressively. "There's the truth in a nutshell. Now we'll go and take a
look at him."

We withdrew from the elaborately fitted caravan in which we had
foregathered, and began picking our way through a maze of ropes,
tent-pegs and that general litter of obstacles which invariably
surrounds the tents of a travelling circus or menagerie. As we
approached the largest of the tents, a deep-throated roar burst on
us like a sudden clap of thunder. It was followed by a medley of
trumpet-like calls and bellowings. The whole place, which had been as
silent as the grave when we had first arrived, was now a den of enraged
and ravening animals. It was as if they were trying their utmost to
scare us away.

"They seem to be very--noisy," I ventured.

"Queer things," answered the Great Animal King. "They spots a stranger
at once at this time o' night. Must be the smell."

I glanced at Gran'pa, trotting along by my side, and wondered whether
it was he or I who most irritated their sensitive nostrils.

"Here we are!" said our companion, lifting a great flap of canvas and
allowing us to enter.

We passed into the huge arena, waited a moment until the electric light
was switched on, and then began gazing at the startled animals pacing
backwards and forwards behind the iron bars of their prisons.

"That's a fine brute," said the King, pointing to a great lion, which
suddenly paused and eyed Gran'pa with interest.

"Y-e-s!" I said.

I didn't like the business a bit. There was something so uncanny in
the spectacle of us three poor little humans surrounded by all his
collection of carnivorous and hungry-looking beasts. It didn't feel
safe, and the object of our visit didn't seem right and fair. It may
have been an epitome of brains _versus_ beef--civilization _versus_
barbarism--but the whole affair savored too much of wicked cunning and
evil intentions. The right and gentlemanly thing would have been for
Gran'pa to have gone into that gorilla's cage unarmed--and fought for
his glands. . . .

I turned and looked at the old man. He was very quiet and
solemn--obsessed, no doubt, by the same thoughts as myself.

"This way, gentlemen," said our companion.

We went forward again and a few moments later the first part of our
Quest for Youth was over.

"There!" said his Majesty, with a contemplative expectoration. "That's
Alfred!"

For fully half a minute, there was no movement in the cage, and we
merely stood gazing at a heap of slowly rising and falling straw.

Then an arm and leg protruded and stretched themselves. They were
followed by one of the most hideous-looking faces imaginable.
Deep-sunk, wicked little eyes glared at us from beneath heavy,
overhanging ridges of bone; a cavernous mouth yawned wide open, with
dreadful rows of huge teeth fringing its black-gummed edges; a thick
tuft of hair oscillated up and down above the low forehead; and
suddenly a nerve-shattering roar reverberated against the wooden walls
of the cage.

With a bound the animal sprang forward, flung its arm between two
of the iron bars and tried to grab Gran'pa by his most cherished
adornment--his long white beard.

"Look out!" I cried.

The old man jumped nimbly aside, giving a shout of amazement and
clumsily treading on my toes.

I steadied him.

"You really ought to be more careful," I said, glancing at the Animal
King, who was chuckling to himself.

"That chap's the very devil when he's roused," said his owner.
"_Quiet_, Alfred!"

Alfred restrained himself for a moment or two, watching Gran'pa as a
cat watches a mouse. There was evidently something in the old man which
aroused his curiosity, as well as his anger. Or it may have been an
instinctive understanding of the reason of the visit. Who knows?

"George," said Gran'pa, with heartless precision, "we shan't do better
than this."

A roar from the cage greeted this remark, and Alfred flung himself at
the bars and rattled and shook at them in abandoned fury.

"May I ask, gentlemen, if you're going to try and train it?" inquired
the King. "Or do you want it wild?"

Gran'pa looked at him for a second or two, abstractedly.

"I don't care how wild it is. In fact the wilder, the stronger, and the
more vicious--the better."

"Then you've the goods in that cage. I've handled some of these brutes
in my time. But this 'un takes the biscuit."

"No trace of consumption, I suppose?" asked Gran'pa, like a young
bridegroom who has been converted to Eugenics.

"I'd eat me 'at! Look at 'im!"

Roar upon roar beat the air, as Alfred told us in his dumb, animal-like
way exactly what he would do if he had only a chance.

"Quite so!" said Gran'pa. "Let's get out of here!"

Ten minutes later arrangements had been made for the safe custody of
the animal up to and including the following Wednesday, when we hoped
to have Gran'pa ready to receive a couple of Alfred's glands.

It was indeed a great day's work, and when we left that home of brute
barbarism I couldn't help patting the old man's back.

"Satisfied?" I asked.

He answered with the deepest emotion.

"George!" he said. "I'm not a greedy man. All I ask for is about a
quarter of that brute's energy. Then I'll be happy!"




CHAPTER IV

THE AVENUE HAS A SURPRISE


After the hastily-arranged purchase of Alfred, the gorilla, we called
next day to see Dr. Croft, the surgeon, who had been chosen to bring
about the strange union of man and part monkey.

I had expected to see a man of anything from forty-five to sixty, but
we were greeted, instead, by a mere youngster of about twenty-five or
six.

I introduced myself and Gran'pa and got down to business at once.

"We've procured a gorilla," I said. "A fine, strapping brute of
phenomenal strength and activity. If only a tenth of its energy is due
to its glands, then we've found a little gold-mine."

"That's good! But I would like to examine Mr. Hadley before actually
committing myself to this--undertaking. Ninety-five is a great age. He
may not be able to stand the operation."

Dr. Croft became eminently practical. So did Gran'pa.

Without the least trace of mock modesty, the latter quickly divested
himself of the whole of his clothes, and stood before us in the same
state of nudity as when he had first appeared on earth nearly a century
ago. And, when one comes to think of it, such a procedure was quite
right and proper, for here was Gran'pa about to start out into the
great world again, to be re-born, re-juvenated, re-vitalized, and what
could be more fitting than his entering on this new birth in the usual
unclad way? The simplicity of his action moved me almost to tears.
Before the throne of surgical wisdom he was no longer a dictatorial,
obstinate old man, but just an obedient child awaiting the pleasure of
its master.

The doctor gazed at him for a while in evident admiration.

"I must congratulate you, sir," he said. "I wouldn't have believed such
a physique possible at your age."

Gran'pa lost his head a little. He commenced strutting around the room,
erect, and as proud as Punch! His long white beard and grayish hair
looked peculiarly unreal, and his hands and face showed the wrinkled
signs of age, but the rest of his figure startled one by its quaint
boyishness. Certainly, there was no elasticity in his step and no
youthful swing in his carriage, but, in spite of that, he gave one the
distinct impression of being a boy--dressed up in mask and wig and
beard--emulating the antics of an old man!

"I've taken great care of myself," he remarked, as he drew nearer
for a more minute examination. "And this is the result. A couple of
years' carelessness half-a-century ago, and I mightn't have been here
to-day--ready to take advantage of this wonderful discovery. Proceed,
doctor!"

Dr. Croft began with the inevitable stethoscope, the tapping of chest
and back, the "Say ninety-nine," the "Take a deep breath," "Now hold
it!"--and so on. With grim and relentless efficiency, he delved into
every nook and cranny of the old man's past and present. He pumped
him of confessions which were new even to me. Physiologically and
psychologically, poor old Gran'pa was turned inside out and upside
down and round about, until we had an almost complete analysis of his
life. The examination was thorough, ably-conducted, and a conclusive
testimony of his ability to face both the operation and the future
without fear.

"I'm willing to undertake this case," said the doctor. "I may say, sir,
that I am _proud_ to do so."

"Good!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "When will you be ready?"

"Any time!"

"Make it to-morrow, then!"

"I shall want you under my care for at least twenty-four hours
beforehand."

"Very well!"

I may be mistaken, but I have always felt that it must be extremely
unnerving to face an operation when one is feeling perfectly fit and
well. Even when such a course is necessary the tendency is to postpone
the evil day--not to hasten it. But it was not actually necessary in
Gran'pa's case; it was more in the nature of an experiment, an attempt
to ward off that intangible and distant something which we call Death,
a thrusting-back of the great clock-hands of Life. I felt humbled
before such courage.

"You've grit, Gran'pa!" I said. "And you'll deserve--everything you
get."

"Tut! tut! In a few years' time this will be one of the recognized
ordeals in life, like a visit to the dentist!" he chuckled.

"That is certainly the most reasonable attitude to adopt," agreed Dr.
Croft.

Gran'pa began clothing himself again, in a leisurely half-hearted
fashion, which seemed to suggest that, if he could have had his own
way, he would have had the operation there and then.

I drew Dr. Croft a little further away and arranged everything in
detail. He appeared to be a very sensible and brainy young man, and I
felt that he could be trusted to do his best.

"Do you think these glands will work all right?" I asked presently.

He began making a speech. I could see it coming. I was even afraid that
it might be a lecture. But I made no resistance.

"I won't say, yet," he answered. "It's not merely a question of new
glands and new vital essences. At such an age as your grandfather's, a
considerable hardening of the tissues and arteries has taken place. The
bones are more brittle, the cartilage partly ossified, the skin less
elastic, the nerves less sensitive, and, of course, the hair and teeth
are going. His heart is very strong, however, and given that, I believe
almost anything is possible."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and Dr. Croft proceeded to deliver a
fifteen-minute technical dissertation on the cause of old age. He also
spoke of the new method of rejuvenation by means of glandular graftings
as if he had first learned of it in the nursery--and didn't think very
much of it.

In a pessimistic peroration, he said:

"There may be a thousand and one arguments in favor of this new
theory, but perhaps in the end there will be just one damning little
detail which will circumvent the whole process of repair. Now you can
understand why I don't wish to be too dogmatic in this case."

I did! (As a drowning man sees the lights of a distant ship.)

He began again--just as I was hoping that he had finished--and
inflicted on me a further lecture, dealing solely with the functions
of "ductless glands" in general (whatever they may be).

Through the corner of my eye I saw Gran'pa fastening his braces in a
quiet, contemplative manner--apparently oblivious of the fact that his
possibilities were being discussed in such astounding detail. I also
saw that he was having some little difficulty with his boot-laces and
his collar, muttering to himself the while. No doubt the stress of the
last half-hour had made him a trifle shaky. But he bore up bravely.

So did I. And then at last, I realized that Dr. Croft had finished.

My poor, numbed brain tried to grapple with this sudden influx of new
knowledge. In my supreme ignorance I had hitherto looked on the body
as just a fairly simple contrivance of beef, bone, blood and brain,
with a digestive apparatus for turning Foods into Human Being. Instead
of that, we appeared to be one conglomeration of complicated and
mysterious glands. All else was merely subsidiary.

As a little child speaks to its teacher, I said:

"How many of these do you propose grafting into Gran'pa?"

"The thyroids only. We will see how these work first."

"Do you agree, Gran'pa?" I shouted.

"I leave myself entirely in Dr. Croft's hands," replied Gran'pa, doing
up the last of his buttons.

"Very well," I said, turning to the doctor again. "We'll have just the
two thyroids to begin with; and I'll see that he is round here by ten
o'clock in the morning. Good-by!"

We escaped to the open air once more, Gran'pa linking his arm through
mine, as if in dire need of comfort.

"Last day of the old life, George," he observed, with an attempt at
cheerfulness. "Let's go and have a drink, to . . . celebrate it. Thank
God that, for the moment at any rate, we are in England!"

If I needed a stimulant, how much more did he?

We had two whiskies each, partly recovered our composure, and then went
home.

There Gran'pa sank into his chair with a sigh and called Molly over to
him.

"A little kiss, Mollikins," he said. "That's better. . . ."

And then:

"I'm tired out, George; and I've no appetite for dinner. I think I'll
have a basin of bread and milk and go straight to bed. That medical
examination has rather unnerved me."

"Oh, you mustn't think about it. You'll be all right after a night's
rest."

"It isn't the . . . job itself. It's the thought that perhaps . . ."
He pulled himself together. "Molly! A bowl of nice hot bread and
milk--made by your own hands."

Molly--who could never be accused of being merely ornamental--adjourned
to the kitchen, and presently returned with Gran'pa's last supper under
the old régime.

He ate it a trifle sibilantly, and very thoughtfully, Molly insisting
on kneeling by his side and holding the bowl as if it were an offering.
I admired her tact and motherly concern.

"Night-night!" he said, at last.

"I shall give you ten minutes only," cautioned Molly. "And then I
shall come up and tuck you in--and you can tell me a story."

Gran'pa chuckled.

"Neither of us deserves her, George," he whispered, as he went by me.
"She's worth half-a-dozen whiskies as a pick-me-up."

He shuffled out of the room in his carpet slippers and Molly glanced at
the clock to note the time.

"Daddy," she asked, "when's he going to the doctor?"

"To-morrow, dear."

"Is it . . . _very_ dangerous?"

"No! Not a bit! You mustn't worry. He'll soon be home again."

She took my hand, and looked at his empty chair by the fireside. It
seemed as if some dread shadow had fallen on us. I realized how much
poor old Gran'pa had become part of the house, the furniture, and even
of ourselves--how keenly we should miss him during his absence in the
nursing home.

The thought of the one-in-a-hundred chance of his dying was
intolerable. I refused to dwell on it. Neither would I let Molly.

"You'll have great times when he does return," I said.

"I know! He's been telling me simply heaps of things he's going to do."

She grew more cheerful at the thought of this--but still kept a
watchful eye on the clock.

"Time's up!" she exclaimed at last.

A moment or two later I could hear creaking movements upstairs and the
faint rumble of Gran'pa's voice as he began telling her a story.

I listened for several minutes; and then silence descended--and so did
Molly.

"He's gone to sleep," she half-whispered. "He often does that when he's
story-telling."

"Just as well, my child. . . . Now for dinner!"

The meal passed quietly and a little sadly. Try as I would, it seemed
impossible to shake off the air of anxiety which had settled on us.

But the next morning everyone was bright and cheerful again. It may
have been due to the bustle and excitement--and the really excellent
breakfast which Nanny had prepared for us.

Gran'pa and I went to Dr. Croft's in a taxi, and Alfred arrived an hour
or so later in a Ford van--after which I bade the old man good-bye and
good luck.

"Don't let Molly worry over me, George," he said. "Everything will
turn out all right in the end. I can _feel_ it. 'Phone up Dr. Croft
to-morrow and drop in to see me the day after. You won't know me! . . .
Au revoir!"

I returned home. The day dragged slowly by; so did the morning of the
next.

At one o'clock I rang up Dr. Croft.

"Well?" I asked, as soon as I heard his voice. "How is the old chap?"

"Excellent! He refused at first to believe that the operation had been
performed. I never met such a man. Now he's actually asking for his
pipe."

"That sounds healthy! No danger of a relapse, I suppose?"

"Practically none. The anæsthetic was the only risk at his age."

"Give him my love--and Molly's--and tell him I'll be round for a chat
to-morrow."

A minute later, Molly and Nanny heard the good news. The former
received it joyfully, but the latter a little sceptically--as if
convinced that no good could possibly come of such irreverent
tamperings with Nature's laws of growth and decay.

"I do hope he'll recover," said the poor old soul. "I've missed him a
good deal."

"We all have, Nanny. But we've suffered in a good cause. So has
Gran'pa. It requires some courage to strike out afresh at his age. He's
an example to the old men of his generation."

A reaction set in at once. I felt not only a sense of great relief, but
also one of exhilaration. My curiosity was intense.

How soon (if ever) would Gran'pa begin to show signs of approaching
youth? Would he rejuvenate mentally or only physically? Would he
show merely less tendency to doze and mumble, or would he become the
alert and energetic man he was fifty years ago? Supposing the whole
affair simply resulted in a mere prolongation of life--stripped of all
its zest--what then? Would he, or any of us, be the happier for it?
Wouldn't it be rather pointless?

I must admit that (quite apart from the monetary reward for my
industry) I was in favor of complete rejuvenation--something which
would reduce his age to about forty, say. There were big possibilities
if this happened; and I wanted to share in them.

But, as I had expected, he progressed very slowly at first.

When I saw him the day after the operation he was still Gran'pa--as
old as ever, and just as deaf. He talked a great deal, and pretended
to feel much better already. He even asserted that his appetite had
improved--a sure sign of youthfulness!

As time went on, however, I noted the coming of a distinct glow in his
cheeks, a brightness in his eyes, a clearness in his voice, and an
improvement in his hearing. But all these I put down to the few weeks
he had spent under the care of a trained nurse, and to the tablets of
thyroid extract which he had also been taking. It seemed absurd to
attribute any change yet to Alfred's glandular influence.

At the end of the third week I arranged to fetch Gran'pa home the
following Wednesday and, immediately I announced the news, the house
was upside down with excitement and anticipation.

Molly, whom I had taken with me twice to see the invalid, was like a
little wild thing. Every hour of the day she was bursting out with
fresh ideas of how she could best welcome Gran'pa back to the fold.

For myself, I looked forward to his return not only with curiosity
but with pleasure. The house had not been the same since he left it.
We all felt that. Time and time again Nanny confessed that there was
"something missing. . . ."

On the Monday afternoon I was standing at the window, thinking that,
within forty-eight hours, we should all be happily united again, when
suddenly I heard a shriek from Molly in the garden. A moment later I
saw her dash towards the gate and, following the direction of her gaze,
an astounding vision greeted me. Gran'pa was coming down the street by
himself!

When I say "coming," I say it reservedly. It is a weak and inadequate
word with which to describe his method of arrival.

Gran'pa--the horrible truth must out!--was _scooting_! He was not
doing it with one foot standing on a strip of board and the other
knocking against the pavement, as is the wont of small children, but
with both feet firmly placed on a platform of spacious dimensions
and both hands gripping a pair of elaborately-fitted handlebars. He
was seated, too! In other words, he had reached that acme of modern
locomotion--the motor scooter!

He came down our sedate and peaceful Avenue at a good, steady ten
miles an hour, with his long beard parted by the playful breeze and
his hat pulled down over his eyes--a mad caricature of an old man of
ninety-five, a dream, a nightmare!

I saw some little children come running round the corner of the road,
like a pack of hounds after a fox. And I saw startled faces appear at
windows and doors, the most startled and shocked of all being Mrs.
Tarrant, the wife of the Baptist minister. I even saw the dim, blue
outline of a policeman slowly approaching from the opposite direction.

It was a terrible situation for a man like myself--a respectable and
trusted Servant of the Public--to know that in a moment or two Gran'pa
would pull up at my front door and bring eternal shame and ridicule on
the family.

In spite of this, however, I could not refrain from dashing bareheaded
into the street and adding myself to that scandalized string of
spectators which now dotted both sides of the Avenue.

Molly was laughing, and clapping her hands joyfully.

"I knew it was Gran'pa!" she cried. "And--he's got a motor scooter!"

Even to her childlike and finite intelligence the painful truth was
obvious.

"Restrain yourself!" I admonished. "Do think of the neighbors!"

And then Gran'pa drew his machine up at the side of the pavement. There
was a sharp explosion, a puff of smoke issued from the rear of the
platform, and strange quivers shook the framework.

The next moment Gran'pa toppled over into the gutter, where he began
struggling with levers, handlebars and revolving wheels. The motor
scooter seemed to be trying either to escape from or run over its
passenger; but thanks to Gran'pa's extraordinary presence of mind, he
managed to touch the right button, and the thing at last became silent
and lifeless.

I helped him to his feet.

"Thank you, George!" he said, with an air of breezy politeness.

"Don't mention it," I replied beneath my breath. "Anything I can do to
hasten the termination of this insane exhibition of childish enthusiasm
. . ." I lost myself in the attempt to express my precise emotions.

"A mere side-slip," he murmured, using his hand as a species of
carpet-beater. "I had a little trouble in starting, but didn't expect
this." He again struck dust from his coat and trousers.

Molly's self-control gave way and she broke into an unmusical "run" of
explosive giggles.

I looked at Gran'pa, smacking himself; at Molly, trying to stuff a
handkerchief into her mouth; at the ugly, motionless machine in the
gutter; at the sprawling patch of grease on the pavement; and, lastly,
at the inevitable "gathering of clans"--that convergence of fellow
creatures on any scene which is rich in "possibilities."

"Molly! Take that wretched contrivance 'round to the back," I
commanded, at the same time seizing Gran'pa by the arm.

But, with a sudden twist, the old man freed himself, and behaved like a
schoolboy with a new bicycle.

"_No!_" he said, firmly. "I'll look after that, thank you!"

"I don't care who looks after it," I snapped, "so long as we get the
beastly thing away before the crowd arrives."

"All right, George! You needn't lose your temper!"

He caught hold of the handlebars and I picked up his hat from the
pavement. Much to the spectators' amusement (and sorrow), we hastily
withdrew to the security of the back garden, where Gran'pa again began
to make himself objectionable.

"I'm afraid it may have been damaged," he said, peering round and about
it. "I'll just try it down the path here."

"If you run into my celery bed I'll murder you!" I growled in the
_sotto voce_ I so often adopted with the old man.

But this time he had actually heard!

"Don't be irritable, George! And don't mumble under your breath. Speak
up!"

He placed his right foot on board, pulled a lever, pushed off with his
left foot, and away he went, with a quick little "_chug-chug-chug_."
Where the gooseberry bushes bordered the narrow path, he swerved a
little, and again where the celery beds lay on each side of him like
newly-dug graves, but, save for these two temporary diversions, he
kept a straight and steady course until he reached the fowl-run at the
extreme end of the garden. There he suddenly turned at right angles and
disappeared.

I looked at Molly, who had been standing spellbound and inarticulate
by my side. To me, Gran'pa's antics had been an annoying revelation
of puerile activity, but to Molly they had been a sheer miracle of
delight. A motor scooter alone would have entranced her; so would
a rejuvenated great-great-grandfather. The combination of the two,
however, had simply paralyzed her. She was in a wonderful present, but
at the same time, the little minx evidently had her mind's eye on a
still more wonderful and fruitful future.

"_Daddy!_" she exclaimed breathlessly.

I turned a sad and disillusioned face to her.

"Isn't it simply _scrumptious_!" she continued with unabated enthusiasm.

"It's very undignified for a man of his age and
respectability--bringing shame on his relations like this."

"You aren't really angry, Daddy?"

"I'm more than angry. I can see red--scarlet!"

"_Chug-chug-chug_," I heard in the distance.

Then a single, clear-cut: "_Bang!_"

Then silence.

"If he's run into those Buff Orpington's," I cried, "there'll be a
murder committed!"

But no! Gran'pa had evidently stopped his machine merely to turn round
and start on the homeward journey again.

"_Pop-pop-pop!_"

Then that quiet, steady "_Chug-chug-chug_" once more, and the ungodly
contrivance came spinning round the corner and up the garden path at a
good ten to twelve miles an hour.

"It--goes--fine!" panted Gran'pa as he alighted by our side.

"Suppose we garage it in the coal-house," I suggested, dully. "Then we
might go indoors and leave the neighbors in peace."

I motioned in the direction of five or six back bedroom windows, behind
whose curtains we saw the dim outlines of a score of curious faces
peering down on us.

"The scullery or kitchen would be much cleaner and better," said
Gran'pa.

I glared at him with awful severity.

"Do you want Nanny to give notice?" I inquired.

"Not at all! Not at all! A very capable woman. A bit fractious at
times, perhaps. . . . But I don't see how she can object to a little
thing like this. . . ."

"Oh! Don't you? Very well! Try her! I wash my hands of the whole
affair."

Then Molly joined in. _She_ wanted to scoot! Naturally, she did! It was
excusable at her immature age. But I was adamant.

"No!" I said. "Go indoors, Molly, at once!"

"But--Daddy. . . ."

"No 'buts'! Do as I tell you. We've had quite enough excitement for one
day."

"A little run down the garden wouldn't hurt her, George," pleaded
Gran'pa.

I could see at once that if I didn't treat them both as a couple of
unruly children there was going to be still worse trouble in the
future. So I wrested the machine from Gran'pa, overcame my own desire
to test it, and wheeled it quickly towards the coal-house, while Molly
and the old man followed ruefully and protestingly behind.

Only when the thing was safely garaged and under lock and key did I
once more feel at ease.

"You're acting in a very high-handed manner, George," said Gran'pa.

"It is necessary!"

"Tut--tut!"

"It's not 'tut-tut'!" I snapped, completely losing my temper. "This
is my house and my garden--and my child. I won't have them publicly
disgraced and demoralized by such clownish antics. Do try and be a
reasonable person and think of your dignity--even if you won't think of
mine."

He grew calmer and more docile at that. He even performed the unnerving
ceremony of apologizing.

"That's all right," I answered, hurriedly. "Let's get in the house
and hide. I feel that every eye in the Avenue is on this place. We're
visible even from here."

He glanced up at the bedroom windows of the two neighboring houses, and
at last retreated through the kitchen door.

In the sheltered security of my own dining-room I sought further
information on this strange outbreak of second childhood. With a look
of the utmost parental severity, I checked Molly's excited flow of
questions and ordered her either to leave the room or to be quiet.
Seeing that I was roused and angry, she tactfully obeyed, and sat down
on the edge of a chair, staring at Gran'pa in wide-eyed admiration and
amazement. I turned and faced him.

"I think you'll admit . . ." I began, sternly.

"I won't admit anything, George, if you're going to adopt that
lecturing attitude. Give it up! It irritates me. Is it a lifelong habit
or have you acquired it only since _I_ came to live with you?"

With a thoughtful and ominous precision, I filled my pipe and lit it.

"Thank you!" said Gran'pa, extending his hand.

"I beg your pardon!" I replied, frigidly giving him my pouch.

"Now, George!"

For five or six more awful seconds I kept my face straight and
dignified. Then I gave way. I couldn't help it. I laughed--and
laughed--and laughed. That vision of Gran'pa, coming down the Avenue
on his scooter, reminded me of a performing ape, I had once seen,
careering round the Coliseum stage on a tiny motor cycle. I thought
of the face of the Baptist minister's wife, three doors further down
the street. I thought of the patch of oily messiness on the pavement
outside. And I thought of all the serious nonsense we had gone through
to bring about this sudden spurt of venturesomeness in poor old Gran'pa.

"Why--_did_ you--do it?" I gurgled.

"Come, come, George! Do pull yourself together."

I quietened down a little and wiped my eyes.

"Have you been properly discharged?" I asked. "Or is it an escape?"

Gran'pa didn't like the last word. He lit his pipe and puffed at it,
furiously.

"I left Dr. Croft's because I've practically recovered and because I
never did like hospitals."

"But why did the doctor arrange for me to come and fetch you next
Wednesday?"

"I haven't the least idea. I felt extremely well this morning and I
thought I would return home. That's all!"

"Couldn't you get a taxi?" I asked.

"Perhaps I'd better explain. After lunch I went out for a stroll and
noticed one of these motor scooters in a shop-window. It looked very
enticing, George. So I entered the shop and inquired. The man got me to
try it down the backyard once or twice."

"Ah! That's the modern enterprising salesman all over. He didn't care
whether you broke your neck or not so long as he got your money."

"Nothing of the sort. He thought I wanted it for someone else and even
offered to send it."

"How perfectly charming of him!"

Gran'pa ignored the comment and continued:

"It was only after I'd tried it once or twice that I suddenly realized
how enjoyable it would be to get one. So I bought it, with the
intention of returning to the hospital. On the way back, however, I
altered my mind. I don't like that nurse, George. She would only have
carried on to me about it if I'd returned on that scooter. So I changed
my mind--and came home instead. . . ."

"Then neither the doctor nor the nurse knows where you are?" I gasped.

"No! You might ring up after dinner and tell them."

"_You_ might!"

"Very well, George!" he answered, affably. "Don't let us quarrel over
trifles."

I gazed at him, pensively.

"Do you attribute all this superabundance of energy to the--glands?" I
asked.

"I think they've helped. I feel fitter than I've done for years."

He certainly looked it.

The following morning I handed him my copy of _The Daily Sketch_, on
the front page of which was a large photograph of Gran'pa speeding down
Regent Street on his scooter.

"You'll be pleased to find yourself in the papers already," I remarked,
dryly.

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, I do. But it's nothing to what I _think_!"

"Mollikins!" he cried with the enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old
schoolboy. "Come and look at this!"

She darted to his side and together they pored over the pictorial
journalist's idea of "news."

Before I left for town that morning, I took Nanny aside.

"For Heaven's sake," I warned her, "keep an eye on those two and see
that they don't get into mischief while I'm away."




CHAPTER V

THE DUG-OUT IN THE GARDEN


After making all the allowance I could for Gran'pa's novel home-coming,
I was under the impression that once those new glands were safely
embedded in him his progress from old age to youth would be a slow
and rhythmic movement, like the gradual and normal recovery from an
illness. But, alas, I was mistaken. There was no doubt about Gran'pa's
progress, but instead of being steady and even, it followed a wild
zigzag course, interspersed with sudden outbreaks of half-delirious
childishness. To-day, he was sensible and quiet and dignified.
To-morrow, he was silly and noisy and skittish. He had apparently
either developed a dual character or was suffering from a grave lack of
self-control.

The only reasonable explanation I can give of these phenomena is that
Gran'pa had been dozing and dreaming in the peaceful backwaters of life
until he had grown extremely stiff and awkward. Now that he was at last
awakening, he was metaphorically pinching himself, stretching, kicking
out, getting rid of that objectionable "pins-and-needles" sensation,
and giving vent to little whoops of joy at finding the grim nightmare
of impending death was untrue. In this half-sleeping, half-waking
state, his perspective naturally was distorted, and he did many things
which were shamefully undignified and childish. The experiment with the
motor scooter was certainly the most dramatic of all these "outbreaks,"
for it was the least expected, and had found me totally unprepared.

As the days passed, however, I grew more accustomed to his freaks, and
came to regard them as the natural result of adding another "young"
member to the family. Some men would undoubtedly have called in a
mental specialist when Gran'pa attached half a walnut shell to the
kitten's tail and spent the whole morning watching the poor little
creature waltzing and somersaulting round the dining-room floor. But
I preferred to adopt the more Christian-like attitude of viewing the
incident merely as a good-humored, boyish lark. After all, it didn't
hurt the cat and it certainly amused Gran'pa and kept him out of
further mischief--so what harm was there?

But when he began inciting Molly, who was already quite enough of a
handful, I found it necessary to be very firm with him.

Without wishing to give the impression that I'm a kill-joy where
youngsters are concerned, I must admit that I believe in a certain
amount of juvenile restraint, even in these days of enlightenment and
free education.

The case in point--which is only one of many dozens which occurred in
the six months succeeding the operation--was actually due to my own
thoughtlessness, and I record it in detail to show that one cannot be
too careful when dealing with the young.

Ever since Molly was eight years old, I had celebrated her birthday by
taking her to see that hardy old stage annual "Peter Pan." This year,
I thought that it would be a gracious act to include Gran'pa in the
ceremony, more particularly as he had just paid me that initial five
thousand dollars, due under Clause 3 (_a_) of our written agreement.

So the three of us journeyed up to town early, had dinner, and then
went to the theatre to see Barrie's wonderful version of Eternal Youth.

As Gran'pa had not been to a theatre since he was sixty-five--that is
over thirty years previously--it was not surprising to find him deeply
moved by the opening scene in the nursery. When Mrs. Darling sang
her three offspring to sleep in their little cots, I noticed Gran'pa
sentimentally blinking his eyes.

Presently, Peter Pan entered and Gran'pa sat up and became very
restless. He craned his neck upwards and forwards and sideways to
improve his view of the stage; he twitched, he made little excited
grunts of merriment, he giggled when Peter let Tinker-bell out of the
drawer, and he roared when the boys began taking lessons in the art of
flying.

As the play proceeded so Gran'pa's excitement grew, until people in
front commenced turning around and glowering at us.

"Restrain yourself, Gran'pa!" I whispered, nudging him in the ribs.

"Do what, George?" he asked, without even taking his eyes off the stage.

"Keep quiet and don't fidget so much."

"But it's so _exciting_!"

He quietened down for a little while, but completely lost his head
when the underground scene came on. The first appearance of the
pirates and the wolves had been trying enough to his feeble powers of
self-restraint, but they were nothing to those thrilling moments, when
the pirates vanquished the Indians and captured the children, and the
green-faced Captain Hook poisoned Peter's medicine.

When the curtain dropped on that scene, Gran'pa was in a terrible state
of excitement.

"Come and have a brandy," I whispered.

"Thanks, George! I think I will."

I led him to the bar and there he steadied his nerves and I quenched my
thirst.

After that, he was much better and managed, without collapsing, to get
through the ghastly nightmare of the Doodle-Doo Quest on the Pirate
Ship. But there were moments when Molly and I were compelled to hold
him down in his seat.

"Disgraceful!" I heard someone growl behind us.

"Absurd, bringing a doddering old chap of that age!" whispered another.

In spite of the low, angry murmurs of the audience in our immediate
vicinity, we contrived, however, to sit through the whole play without
causing a riot, and when we eventually left the theatre, I explained to
Gran'pa exactly what I thought of him.

"I couldn't--help it!" he said listlessly, as if every drop of his
energy had gone.

"But it's so pitifully weak and selfish, behaving as you did," I
remonstrated. "Think how it annoyed the other members of the audience."

He tried to answer but could not.

Then his legs gave way, and he suddenly sat down on the pavement and
began crying hysterically.

I called a taxi, gathered him up, and hustled him into it, where he sat
twitching in the corner like a man with Saint Vitus' dance.

Although I don't pretend to understand very much about medical science,
I do know that thyroid gland secretion has a remarkably stimulating
effect on the mental faculties. With too little of it, one is dull
and lifeless; with too much of it, one is active and highly strung.
Could it be that Alfred's glands were too vigorous, and that what was
normally good for monkey was abnormally bad for man? It was a very
discomfiting thought, and I grew so alarmed at Gran'pa's condition that
I decided to get him a bromide draught. It would, at any rate, afford
temporary relief.

So we drew up at the nearest chemist's shop, where I bought Gran'pa a
soothing powder.

"Stick your tongue out," I ordered, when I returned to the taxi.

He protested at first, but soon gave way, and I carefully tipped the
white pacifier into the centre of the scoop-shaped receptacle which he
was holding out in readiness.

"Now swill it down with this," I said, handing him a glass of water.

Again he obeyed.

Then he settled back in his corner and fell sound asleep.

"This is cheerful!" I thought. "How on earth are we going to get him
into the train at Waterloo?"

I considered the matter for a moment, and finally came to the
conclusion that we should have to taxi home.

Much to Molly's delight, I broke the news to the reluctant driver, and
away we sped at last.

When we got back, Nanny and I put Gran'pa to bed, gave him a glass of
hot milk and hoped for the best.

The following morning he came down to breakfast, looking more
aggressively energetic than ever.

"You're very full of beans," I said.

He braced his shoulders.

"Yes," he replied. "It must have been that powder, George!"

"That was a _soothing_ powder, man!" I exclaimed. "Not a tonic."

"You don't say so!"

"I certainly bought it as such!"

He looked into the fire for a moment or so, in mild contemplation. Then
he turned to me again.

"That was a wonderful play, George. D'you know any more like it?"

"No! It's unique. Even if it were not, I wouldn't take you to another
of the same kind."

"Why not?"

"Can't you remember?"

"I recollect being very interested in it."

"Is that all?" I gasped.

He paused.

"I was dreaming a good deal last night," he confessed, sheepishly.

"What sort of dreams?"

"Oh! Nightmare and things. . . . That fellow Captain Hook was after me.
So were those wolves."

His eyes were shining and his cheeks glowing. There was no doubt that
"Peter Pan" had left a very vivid impression on him.

"Would you like me to send for Dr. Croft?" I asked.

"No! Certainly not! Don't _you_ ever get . . . roused, George?"

"Yes! I did last night!"

"Wonderful play!" he murmured, entirely missing my point.
"Wonderful . . . !"

That was the refrain throughout breakfast. Both Molly and he excitedly
went over nearly every detail of the piece. Wolves, Indians, Pirates,
Underground Houses, Mermaids, Fairies--all these provided far more
sustenance than mere marmalade and toast and bacon. Indeed, for the
next week or so "Peter Pan" was the chief topic of conversation between
the juvenile and rejuvenated members of the household. It became an
obsession with them.

I couldn't understand it, because no play, however wonderful, could
possibly produce such an effect by itself. Was there any other
influence at work on Molly and Gran'pa? I concluded that there was,
for presently they began whispering together, nudging one another, and
occasionally making furtive signs during meal-times.

"What are you both up to?" I asked one day. "Why do you keep winking at
your grandfather, Molly?"

"It's . . . only in fun, Daddy."

"Quite so! But what is the fun?"

"Don't bully her, George!" butted in Gran'pa.

"Is this _my_ child, or yours?" I demanded.

The old sinner's eyes twinkled.

"I'm remotely responsible," he said.

"You're directly responsible for some other underhand work that is
going on. Since you two have joined forces, Molly's behavior has become
the last word in 'Frightfulness.' That's bad enough in all conscience,
after the years of good example I've set her, but what really hurts is
the fact that she neglects me, too. I might easily be a stranger in my
own house!"

Molly was at my side in a second, with her arms round my neck and a
glowing little cheek pressed against mine.

"_Daddy!_ I don't neglect you! I only play with Gran'pa more than I
used to."

"You never play with me," I growled.

"Oo--oo--oo! . . . I did last night!"

"Merely out of pity. You didn't want to."

"Only because I was tired, Daddy. . . ."

"There you are! Why are you so tired nowadays? You didn't used to be.
It's because you waste all your energy larking with Gran'pa, while I'm
slaving at the office all day. Then there is nothing left for me in the
evenings."

I caught her glancing fearfully in the old man's direction, and knew at
once that they actually _were_ up to something.

"Gran'pa," I said. "What is this terrible secret which is eating into
my daughter's life and destroying our happy home?"

"Don't be absurd, George!"

"Very well! I shall find out sooner or later. . . ."

Both Molly and her confederate grew very quiet at this threat of
ultimate discovery.

I looked at Gran'pa sternly.

"Is it," I asked, "anything to do with that wonderful project, about
which you have confided in Molly, but not in me?"

"You silly old Daddy! Of course it isn't!" cried Molly.

"Nothing whatever to do with it, George!" corroborated Gran'pa.

Molly pushed her fingers pensively through my hair. She was evidently
wavering.

"Shall I tell him?" she pleaded at last to her abettor.

"It's not fair to worry her like this, George!" he exclaimed.

"All right! Don't bother! The day has evidently come when even my own
child turns against me."

Molly was now on the verge of confession but at the fifty-ninth minute
of the eleventh hour, Gran'pa overcame her. He deliberately placed the
forefinger of his right hand in his mouth, took it out again and made
the sign of a cross on his beard! Molly watched him, like a rabbit
hypnotized by a snake.

"I can't, Daddy!" she murmured, clutching spasmodically at my hair.
"It's wicked to break a promise. . . ."

And that is precisely where the matter stood for the next two days. My
curiosity pulled one way and Molly's honor the other. I think the two
forces were about equally matched. Luck, however, eventually gave my
side the advantage--and the dread secret was suddenly out in all its
startling nakedness.

One evening, instead of returning home about six, as I had expected,
I came back a couple of hours earlier. It was a cold, wet, miserable
winter's day, and I naturally concluded that Molly and Gran'pa would be
amusing themselves in front of a roaring fire. Imagine my surprise when
Nanny said that they were in the tool-house outside--"making something."

I hurried out to see what mischief was afoot; but there was no sign of
them anywhere.

"That's funny," I said to Nanny. "They're not there. Are you certain?"

"Quite!" she answered, a little wearily. "They've been out since two
o'clock."

I went to the tool-house again, and even looked under and into things.
Still no trace!

"They must be indoors!" I said.

Nanny looked at me wildly. The last few weeks had told on her, and I
regret to say that she was not the woman she had been.

"They went out at two," she reiterated, slowly and firmly. "And they've
not come back into _this_ house again, or I should have seen them."

"But--they must be somewhere!" I exclaimed, growing alarmed.

"I'm sure they're old enough to look after themselves. I've got plenty
to do without . . ."

"Come, come, Nanny! Don't lose your temper!"

"Lose my temper!" she cried, suddenly bursting the dams which had been
holding back the accumulated floods of weeks of storm and tempest. "If
you'd had to put up with half what I have, you'd pack up your things
and go this very minute."

"But why didn't you tell me of this before?"

She snorted.

"Tch! You are just as bad yourself! It's wicked, that's what I call
it! The Almighty never intended us to live as long as your grandfather
hopes to--and it's going against His laws to start cutting up all those
poor little defenceless monkeys. It's disgusting. . . . To think of
that old man capering about with those nasty little animal glands in
him!"

It was the first time I had ever seen dear old Nanny really lose her
temper. I was simply spellbound.

"Nanny . . ." I began.

"Don't you 'Nanny' me! I've had enough of it. There hasn't been a
moment's peace since the day your grandfather first put foot here.
He's a Godless old man and ought to know better at his time of life.
I won't stay in this house after to-night. No! not if you offered me a
fortune!"

"You don't mean . . ."

She flamed out again.

"Not for a _fortune_!"

She suddenly rushed from the kitchen, upstairs, and into her own room.

I heard the door crash to with nerve-shattering emphasis. Then a deadly
silence enveloped the house.

"Good Lord!" I gasped.

For a full minute I stood quite still, paralyzed and helpless.
This, surely, was the beginning of the end. Without Nanny, life was
unthinkable--comfortless--void!

I gazed miserably at the wretched English winter outside, and it seemed
to symbolize all the grayness and coldness of the future. It also drew
my attention to the fact that Molly and Gran'pa had still to be found.
Where were they? Where could they be?

I put on my hat and coat and hurried down the garden in the pouring
rain.

"Molly!" I cried. "Where are you?"

The trees sighed and shook a deluge of tears on me.

"Confound the old fool!" I muttered, floundering through the mud and
filth which surrounded the fowl-pens.

Even the hens themselves withdrew from my wrath.

"Are you there?" I clamored, thrusting my hand through the low doorway.

The only answer was a scurrying on the part of the feathered folk. . . .

I stood up again and looked around the deserted and sodden garden. As I
did so, I saw a thin thread of blue smoke dismally ascending from the
midst of the raspberry canes.

"Ah!" I cried. "So that's where you are!"

In a second, I had bounded over the squelching celery bed and cabbage
patch and reached the tell-tale spot.

"Molly!" I shouted.

The sound of voices reached me from the bowels of the earth!
Puzzled and angry, I thrust aside the wet and clammy canes, stepped
forward--and suddenly found myself treading on air.

When I had recovered from the jolt and splash, it became apparent that
I was now at the bottom of a huge rectangular hole some four or five
feet in depth, and that the "floor" on which I stood, ankle deep in
mud, rose at a fairly steep angle to the normal level of the garden.
With my characteristic bad luck, I had plunged in at the "deep end."

Turning quickly round, I discovered what was obviously the entrance to
nothing more nor less than a crudely fashioned "dug-out" or underground
retreat, which was shut off from the outer world by an improvised door
of patchwork pieces of wood. From behind this, proceeded the faint
sound of human voices, apparently shouting some sort of primitive song:
"_Wah-wah! Wah-wah-woo!_"

I listened for a moment or two. Then I sniffed at the unmistakable odor
of grilled kippers--the kind of nauseating smell one usually associates
with gypsies' tents, caravans and cheap lodging-houses.

Here, at last was the explanation of all these weeks of secrecy and
furtiveness on the part of Molly and Gran'pa! This is what had happened
through taking them to see the underground scene in "Peter Pan." This
was how they showed their gratitude!

I thrust a hand between the soft muddy earth and the top of the "door,"
tugged, and down it came with a splash, followed by a gush of foul
smoke and kipper-laden air.

The "_Wah-wah-woo!_"-ing ceased, and an ominous silence reigned in its
place.

I waited for the poisonous fumes to clear a little, and then ducked my
head and peered into the dug-out. In the light of a couple of candles
and a blazing wood-fire, I caught sight of Molly, hastily removing a
kipper impaled on the end of a pointed stick, and Gran'pa thrusting a
half loaf of bread into his pocket.

"Come out!" I shouted.

Molly emerged, slowly and sheepishly. She was wet through, muddy,
black-faced and reeking with the mingled odors of damp earth, smoke,
and grilled fish. As she stood before me, she shivered in the cold and
driving rain.

I tried to convey to her some idea of my utter amazement and anger, but
realized that the English language was not intended for the expression
of such powerful emotions as mine were at that moment.

"Go into the house, immediately!" I cried at last. "You'll catch your
death of cold!"

"Daddy . . ." she began wheedlingly.

"Don't you touch me! I'm dirty enough already! . . . _Scoot!_"

She scooted; and I went in and hauled out Gran'pa who was behaving
like a sulky schoolboy. I was mad with him--mad at the dangerous
complications which might follow Molly's exposure to such weather.

"I daren't say what I think of you!" I flamed. "But I'll tell you my
opinion of myself. I was a fool ever to help you in this idiotic monkey
business. You may have been troublesome in the old days, but you were
at least harmless. Now, you've become not only a nuisance to the whole
household, but a menace as well. A thundering good hiding is what you
really deserve. . . ."

He shrank back into the cover of the dug-out and the rain pelted down
on me in torrents.

"Oh! Don't be afraid!" I said. "I wouldn't touch you for worlds. If
you wish, you can stay and 'pig' it in there for all eternity. I'm
certainly not going to ask you into _my_ house again."

I looked at his mud-stained beard, his grubby face, his dirty clothes,
and his filthy hands, and suddenly my anger gave way to a feeling of
disgust and repulsion.

Without another word, I turned, and strode quickly towards the house.




CHAPTER VI

GRAN'PA REFORMS


The immediate result of this latest of Gran'pa's outbreaks was that
he stopped in his dug-out all night! About eleven o'clock that
evening, after Molly had had a hot bath and gone to bed, I cooled down
sufficiently to go out and see what had become of him. And there he
was--crouched pathetically in front of a bright stick fire, looking
like the sole survivor of some lost tribe of ancient wanderers. His
head was in his hands, his beard hung tragically between his knees,
and his back was bent in a dismal arch of resignation under the
bludgeonings of Fate.

But the moment I tried to persuade him to behave like a reasonable man
and come indoors, his attitude changed to one of stark, brute fury.
He sprang to his feet and stood glaring and growling at me, as if he
were some wild animal at bay. The firelight danced on his muddy and
saturated clothes, and threw a weird, jumping, ape-like shadow on the
wall of the dug-out. His eyes shone like balls of fire.

"Get out!" he said hoarsely. And then, with an ominous calm: "_By God!_
if you don't, I'll brain you!"

He seized a huge, twisted branch, whose one end had been helping to
feed the fire, and waved it, torch-like, in my face.

I floundered backwards, through the mud and water until I reached the
level of the garden above.

"Gran'pa!" I implored. "For heaven's sake. . . ."

"Go--when I tell you!" he screamed, emerging into the open. "I will
_not_ return to that house!"

"But . . . you can't stay here. . . ." I began, again.

"Who's going to stop me?"

"You're wet through. Do remember your age, and be reasonable. This is
absurd! . . . I don't understand. . . ."

"Oh! Go to blazes! I've had enough of your insults and bickerings. I
shall stay here until the morning. Then I shall leave this benighted
house and country and return to the States! Do you understand _that_?"

He returned to his shelter, thrust his weapon of attack back into the
fire again, and took up an alert and threatening attitude, showing not
the remotest sign of a compromise.

"Very well!" I said.

I went indoors again, flabbergasted at this tremendous burst of
passionate resentment and childish obstinacy.

I thought of obtaining the help of a doctor, or a neighbor, or the
police; but to tell the truth I was afraid that if Gran'pa were removed
from his dugout by force he might lose his mental balance altogether
and become a raving maniac.

For the time being, there seemed to be nothing that I could do.
On the other hand, it was hopeless to think of going to bed. With
Molly showing signs of having caught a very severe cold, with Nanny
determined to leave me next day, and with Gran'pa crouching in that
damp and miserable shelter down the garden, it would have been
impossible for me to sleep a wink. The whole of my little, orderly
world was topsy-turvy.

In my misery, I cursed science in general; I cursed Alfred the gorilla;
I cursed Dr. Croft; and I even cursed Sir James Barrie for writing
"Peter Pan."

I pictured those happy, peaceful days when Gran'pa had nodded at his
unrejuvenated ease by the fireside--and life had been one smooth,
eventless stream of comfort and solace after the day's work.

To think that this chaotic disturbance should have been caused by a
mere couple of innocent looking thyroid glands! To think that, after
all these years, dear, motherly old Nanny was going to leave us to
fend for ourselves--or to leave us to the mercy of some cold-blooded,
professional housekeeper.

With a sigh, I drew up my chair before the fire, and prepared to pass a
night of comfortless dozings and painful cogitations on the future.

About one o'clock I woke with a start from an evil dream in which
Gran'pa figured as a wild man of the woods, pursuing innocent children
and hurrying them to some terrible and uncertain doom. In his cave were
scattered the whitened remains of little human bones. . . .

At two o'clock I shook off the vestiges of a pitiful scene in which the
old man had been lying in a great four-poster bed, with his long gray
beard streaming over a red and yellow counterpane.

"I'm . . . dying, George!" he had whispered.

Scared and shaken, I sprang to my feet and determined to make still
another appeal to his better nature.

The rain had ceased and a full moon shed its cold and pitiless light on
the scene as I stood remonstrating and pleading with him.

"I'll apologize for everything, if you'll only come indoors," I said,
humbly.

"No! . . . Go away!"

"Can I . . . bring you anything hot to drink?" I asked.

He made no answer; but, full of hope, I hurried into the house again,
lighted the gas stove, and heated up a pint of milk, which I poured
into a large jug, adding a tablespoonful of Bovril to the steaming
contents. With happy inspiration, I also half-filled a tumbler with
neat whiskey. Surely such tokens of affectionate consideration would
move him!

But no! For a moment or two he stood eying the jug and glass, which I
had fearfully placed on the threshold of his retreat.

"The one's milk and Bovril, and the other's whiskey. . . ." I said
encouragingly.

He advanced a few steps, hesitated, and then suddenly picked up the jug
and flung its contents at me.

"You ungrateful old beast!" I cried, as the hot liquid struck my face.

"Get away, then!"

Stooping down, he seized the glass in his right hand, and I hurriedly
backed to a safer distance.

A second or so later the glass was empty; but instead of the whiskey
joining the little rivulets of milk running down my clothes, it was
securely inside Gran'pa, who was smacking his lips appreciatively.

"Thank you--George!" he gulped.

"Now, do come indoors!" I pleaded, with great self-control.

"No. . . ." he growled.

I could see that he was weakening, however, and I took advantage of the
fact.

"It's only two o'clock," I went on. "That means another six hours until
breakfast time--six hours before it's even light."

The thought of it made me shudder.

"I won't . . . give way," he mumbled. "I've put up with too much from
you as it is. . . . NO!"

"All right! I've done everything that is humanly possible. I've lowered
my dignity sufficiently to apologize, and I've offered to forgive and
forget. . . ."

"Don't be melodramatic!"

"Then you absolutely insist on wallowing in this filth until morning?"

"I do!"

Again I withdrew.

So the weary hours of the night dragged slowly on. In front of the
blazing fire indoors my mind constantly reverted to that cold and
cheerless underground cell in which Gran'pa was doing voluntary penance
for his misdeeds. I thought also of the morrow when he and Nanny were
going to leave us for ever. Molly, too, claimed my worried attention.
Poor little Molly! She would lose a playmate. Since Gran'pa's
rejuvenescence he and Molly had been the closest of chums. They had
motor-scooted; they had climbed trees; they had met as equals in the
great world of juvenile fiction which littered Molly's "sanctum." In
short, Gran'pa had been to her that elder brother for whom she had
craved since almost the first day when she could walk and talk.

And now this was to be the end--a wretched quarrel, an estrangement,
a stumbling away of Gran'pa into the big dark world, which lay beyond
what had been the brightest little home in Airesdale Avenue. . . .

Even as I pondered on this scurvy trick of Fate's, I heard a distinct
bump on the ceiling overhead. Then the patter of bare feet and a voice
calling to me from the head of the stairs.

"Daddy!"

I darted to the door.

"Yes?"

"My throat's dry. . . . I feel so thirsty!"

"Get back to bed, dear, and I'll bring you some milk."

I went into the pantry and found what was apparently the "breakfast
milk," warmed it a little, and took it up to Molly.

She was in bed again, but the jumbled state of the clothes told of a
very restless night. Although it was so bitterly cold, the eiderdown
was on the floor, and the counterpane half off the bed, and Molly
herself only partly covered.

I handed her the milk and straightened the bed a little, while she sat
up and swallowed the liquid greedily.

"You're very flushed and feverish," I said, sitting down by her side
and feeling her hot little forehead and cheeks with the back of my
hand. "Do you think you've caught cold, Molly?"

"I don't know, Daddy. . . . But it is hot!"

She searched with her feet for cold spots under the bedclothes.

"You mustn't toss the eiderdown off," I said. "Can't you get to sleep,
dear?"

"No-o-o! . . ." she murmured, restlessly.

I placed a cool hand on her forehead again.

"Is that better?"

"Yes, Daddy! . . . Ever so much!"

She became quieter and gently pulled my other hand into the bed and
commenced cuddling it. For half an hour or more I stayed with her until
she fell into a fitful sleep. Then I crept downstairs to the fire and
warmed my frozen limbs and feet.

That bedroom scene was the first in a long and agonizing series which
lasted for over a week.

The _locum tenens_ to our old family doctor fought back the menace,
first of rheumatic fever and then of pneumonia. For days, it was
touch and go which of the dread diseases she might contract, but she
had a strong constitution--thank God!--and both Nanny and Gran'pa sank
their grievances in a common service to their idol. Nothing was too
much trouble for them. Nanny was just her own sweet, motherly self!
But Gran'pa rose to heights of such unselfish devotion as I had never
imagined. He spent practically the whole day and half of each night in
her bedroom--watching her when she was asleep, and reading to her and
playing games with her when she was awake.

"My God, George!" he said, "I don't think I shall ever be able to
forgive myself."

His spirit of penitence and humility bordered on the pathetic. By some
miracle, he had escaped Heaven knew what complications himself and he
seemed determined to devote his remaining strength to succoring Molly
in her dire hour of need. Gone was all his obstinacy, his freakishness.
In that week of torment he had grown to years of discretion and
achieved a mental stability far beyond my wildest hopes. Behind him, he
had some seventy to eighty years' experience of human nature, and he
brought it all to bear on Molly's particular temperament, with a wisdom
which astonished even the doctor in attendance.

"The most wonderful old man I've ever seen!" he observed.

I did not mention the gland business, as I thought Gran'pa might be
offended.

"He's certainly very tough!" I answered.

"But his sympathy and understanding! Remarkable! . . . Old people are
usually so narrow-minded and crotchety . . . so selfish."

"Ah! He's the exception!" I said with enthusiasm.

"What's his age?"

"Ninety-six next week."

"You don't say so! Most _astounding_!"

"You've only seen him at his quietest, doctor."

I hesitated a moment; and then family pride carried me away a little.

"Normally," I said, "he is all energy and go. He could eat, drink
and smoke me under the table any day; and as a companion for Molly
he's--unapproachable. Motor-scooting, tree-climbing, running and
jumping. . . . That big walnut tree down the garden is one of his
favorite spots. He and Molly have a sort of seat, made of twisted
boughs. He's often up there reading. A wonderful climber!"

"Impossible at his age!"

"You must drop in some day and see for yourself."

"Can you give any reason for it?" he asked.

Naturally, I could have given one--but I didn't. . . .

"I suppose," I said, "that it is just the result of good, clean living
and a strong constitution. He's never had a day's illness in his
life--except for a slight operation he once underwent. He's also an
American, born and bred. I think that may account for a lot. . . ."

"H'm! . . . Very interesting man! Telling me this morning all about
Abraham Lincoln's election as President and how it was the culmination
of the long political struggle between the North and the South over the
question of slavery. Your great-grandfather was a young man of about
your age at that time. . . . Remarkable memory for details!" mused the
doctor, jerkily, as if he had a preserved specimen of Gran'pa before
him in a bottle of spirit. "Got a fine head, too. . . . And there's
character in his face. . . . I should say he's a man who is not easily
turned from anything he's set his mind to."

"He's the very devil," I admitted, "once he gets an idea into his head."

"It's men like that who make for progress, you know. . . ."

"Undoubtedly, doctor! I believe that in a few years' time grandfather's
name will be a household word."

"In a few years' time! . . ." he exclaimed. "But surely at his
age--ninety-six . . ."

"Oh, he's good for another thirty or forty years yet!"

The doctor looked at me with a trace of alarm in his eyes; then he said
rather abruptly:

"Well, I must be going, Mr. Barnett."

The moment he had left the house, Gran'pa entered the room. He seemed
very irritable.

"You must pardon me, George," he said, "but I couldn't help overhearing
some of that conversation. . . . I don't think it was very nice of you
to hold me up to ridicule."

"I had no such intention," I replied. "It was more from a feeling of
justifiable pride in your abilities than anything else."

"H'm! . . . Well, it's my own fault, perhaps. . . . I've been
intoxicated with this sudden flow of new energy. It went to my head,
so to speak. My brain was overstimulated. I felt very much like a man
who has come out of the darkness into a blaze of light. I hadn't grown
used to the change. . . . Then came this terrible shock. I thought that
Molly was going to die. . . ." (Although she had practically recovered,
the word sent the blood rushing inwards and I involuntarily shivered.)
"But, thank God, she was spared. . . . It's been one awful nightmare
of fear and if anything had happened to her, I should have killed
myself; but the ordeal seems to have steadied me. Something's gone snap
in here"--he tapped his forehead--"and I'm whole again!"

I kept silent, amazed at the sudden revelation of sanity.

Said Gran'pa: "As soon as Molly is well again I intend starting
life afresh. I have a great deal of experience behind me, valuable
first-hand knowledge of things and persons. I don't want to quote the
old tag about an ounce of experience, but it's certainly true. It
will give me a big pull over the younger generation--although I shall
necessarily want their help. I shall not be handicapped like most men
of my age, or even twenty years younger. And, thank Heaven, I have
plenty of self-confidence."

He strode down the room, glanced out of the window at a burst of winter
sunshine, and then came back to the hearth-rug, from which he had
delivered his confession.

Taking hold of my arm, he added, very quietly:

"Please remember, George, that in future I'm a reasonable human being."

"I believe you," I answered. "In the last few days you have certainly
changed for the better. . . ."

That brief conversation gave me an insight into Gran'pa's new
character--or was it his old one emerging butterfly-like from the
chrysalis of age? He had become a man with a serious purpose in life;
though he would not reveal exactly what that purpose was.

Events moved swiftly. A short time after Molly's complete recovery,
Gran'pa visited the barber, and returned with a clean-shaven face and
shorter locks!

The effect was bewildering, but very impressive. I saw for the first
time the square-cut jaw and the firm mouth which had been hidden
beneath the tangle of white beard and moustache. His cheeks were still
sunken and his neck was scraggy; but--"They'll fill out in time,
George!" he said.

The next day he dyed his hair a dark brown--and knocked his apparent
age down to not a day more than fifty.

A week later he had discarded his old-fashioned swallow-tailed coat and
wide-legged trousers for a smartly-cut gray lounge suit of the latest
style. Another five or ten years seemed to have gone in a flash!

He began gradually acclimatizing himself to cold baths in the mornings.
The bath-room echoed with the sounds of his blowings and splashings and
singings. . . .

An elastic "exerciser" appeared as if by magic on his bedroom door, and
a pair of dumb-bells sprang into being on the window-sill.

At meal times he poured on his food large quantities of olive oil--and
fried brown bread in it, for what he called his "eleven o'clock snack."

He even made a daily visit to the local beauty parlor, where his
wrinkles were smoothed and steamed and massaged. Under this and the
olive oil treatment his face and neck grew rounder and firmer.

And so, by these many painstaking efforts, did Gran'pa descend the
barren mountain-side of age and come into the wide and fertile valley
of Youth. The progress he made was very slow, but it was very, very
sure. Every week he had a full and side-face photograph taken, and
every week we compared it with the previous records of rejuvenation. It
was then that one could see the gradual birth of that new man which he
was making of himself.

This gallery of portraits was an example of how carefully and
scientifically Gran'pa was proceeding, and, unsatisfied with mere
externals, he also paid periodic visits to Dr. Croft, who measured the
strength of his heart-beat--and also recorded it on paper in the form
of a zigzag graph.

"We're getting along, George!" he said. "I shall soon have you beaten,
my boy. I'm going backwards and you're going forwards! When shall we
meet, eh?"

"I wouldn't like to prophesy anything where you're concerned."

He put his hand on my shoulder and laughed from the sheer joy of living.

"This time last year . . ." he said musingly, "was I really
that--doddering old fool in the chair?"

"You were certainly old, and you were certainly in that chair--most of
your time," I answered good-humoredly. (I was beginning to like him
immensely!)

"What an escape! . . . What a miracle! . . . And this time next
year? . . ."

"Aren't you _ever_ going to tell me of this project of yours?" I
pleaded, appropriately.

"Very soon, George! Next week I'm going down to Brooklands."

"You intend trying or buying a motor car--or aeroplane?" I gasped.

"A mere detail! But I refuse to be pumped. You'll hear everything in
good time, George. . . ."

So I still had to wait impatiently for the Day of Revelation!




CHAPTER VII

MR. STRINGER COMES TO BREAKFAST


It was easy to see that Gran'pa's reference to Brooklands could mean
one of only two things--motoring or aeroplaning. But I never expected
what actually followed.

The old man--or should I say the young one?--came home one evening in a
state of feverish excitement.

"I've been flying, George!" he announced buoyantly.

"Skylarking?" I asked, "or really leaving the earth for the air?"

"Flying!" he emphasized, flapping his hands and arms about. "This
afternoon I went to Bournemouth and back . . . for a little trial spin."

"A trial spin?" I echoed, wondering what bigger project he had in view.

He nodded and drew in a great breath.

It was spring, and the windows were open, and the air was like wine.
Gran'pa seemed to be half intoxicated.

"By the Lord Harry!" he exclaimed. "It's the greatest thing I've
done. We left Brooklands at two sharp and were back at a quarter to
five--with two loops and a nose-dive _en route_. I've fixed up another
jaunt on Sunday--with you and Molly. And next week I'm popping over
to Rome and back. If the journey's satisfactory, I intend buying the
machine."

"Doing what?" I gasped.

His eyes twinkled as he watched Molly and me, and with an exaggerated
nonchalance, he lit his pipe and sat down on the edge of the
dining-room table--the very embodiment of a vigorous, middle-aged man,
at least fifty years younger than himself. . . .

"I've a specification here, somewhere," he said, fumbling in his breast
pocket, and presently drawing out a scrap of paper. "Vickers-Vimy
Rolls-Royce. The most reliable combination in the world, George, . . .
Just read that through and tell me what you think of it."

I read through a specification which might have been Yiddish, so little
did it enlighten me.

"It looks as if it will cost a fortune," I observed.

"Not at all! In fact, I'm getting three brand new ones."

I tried to pass some comment on this amazing man's new outbreak, but
could not. I was literally tongue-tied. It was the most stupendous
exhibition of idiocy I had ever encountered. One might conceivably buy
three motor cars; but, three aeroplanes . . . !

"What in heaven's name do you intend doing with them?" I managed to say
at last. "Is it to be the nucleus of a new Air Force?"

"No! Just a little private venture--for the public good!"

"D'you mean there's a machine for each of us?" I asked, with a feeble
attempt at humor.

"If you like to put it that way, George. . . ."

It was very evident that he had some tremendous scheme afoot, and the
tantalizing air of secrecy he maintained rather annoyed me.

"Why be so secretive?" I asked. "Surely you can tell us all exactly
what you intend doing."

He blew out a cloud of smoke and sat there as unruffled as a sphinx.

"Ever thought of foreign travel?" he queried, mildly.

"I have. We all have! But certainly not by aeroplane."

"Ah! You're still very conservative, George. You should move with the
times. You don't think that, now I've got my youth back, I'm going to
be content with fussy old steamers and railway trains, do you? I want
to fly--_soar!_--get above the world and look down on it. Besides," he
added slyly, "there aren't any trains where I'm going. . . ."

I knew that he wanted me to fire a volley of questions at him. But I
didn't! I sat and waited.

So did Gran'pa.

Presently he said:

"You've read Robert Louis Stevenson, George?"

"I have!"

"D'you like treasure hunting yarns?"

"I do!"

"But you don't think there's much scope for that sort of thing
nowadays?"

"I don't think there ever was--except in books," I answered, peevishly.

"You're a frightful sceptic, George. It's through living in London all
your life. A dull, blasé place! . . . Lot of noise and bustle--and
talk--but nothing ever _happens_!"

He puffed away at his pipe for a few moments, and then resumed, with
the air of some politician portraying a world which needs reforming:
"All that's got to be changed. Humanity in the mass moves very slowly.
If you want things done, you must rely on the individual who can elbow
his way out of the rut." He gazed at me with inspiration in his eyes.

"George," he said quietly. "I believe I'm one of those individuals.
Already, I'm the first man to travel backwards through life. There was
that convict they experimented on in America, of course, but one never
heard any more of him. Possibly he died. In any case he was only sixty
or so. _I_ was ninety-five. . . ."

"Was . . . ?" I murmured.

He chuckled.

"How old am I now?" He stood up and smote his chest. "How old do I look
and feel?"

"About forty-five, I should say."

"Not a day older! Not a day. . . . Well, that's the first step away
from the rut. Then there's this--the greatest of all. Treasure hunting
in aeroplanes!"

"Where? And _what_?" I asked, involuntarily--knowing full well that he
was gloating over my curiosity.

He waited awhile before he continued.

Then he suddenly disclosed his scheme in all its fascinating glory. It
staggered me--at first by its utter absurdity; then by its alarming
possibility; and, finally, by its sheer plausibility. It was gigantic,
gruesome, grotesque; and yet, to hear Gran'pa talk, it was so
transparently simple that it made me wonder why no one had thought of
it before.

"Ever since these new glands have been in full working order," he said,
"I can't help feeling that others ought to be given an opportunity of
regaining their youth. There must be hundreds of old men like myself
who are still looking backwards in the way I used to: Ah! if only I had
my life to live over again! It's the saddest, the most wistful cry in
the world, George--that 'might-have-been!' You can't appreciate it at
your age, with your eyes on the future. But picture yourself when you
are seventy--seventy-five--eighty--always gazing backwards. There's no
tragedy in life until you're old--and then it's the eternal tragedy of
that might-have-been! I've lived through it all. I know. . . . The time
I must have spent just sitting . . . and thinking. . . . Always the
same refrain. Might have been! . . . Might have been! . . ."

His gaze was directed towards the fire now--that strange
picture-factory of the past and the future--and I could see that he was
very deeply moved.

"When I spoke of treasure hunting just now you probably thought of
hidden chests of jewels and coins, of tattered and torn scraps of paper
with complicated directions and cabalistic signs written on them--all
that paraphernalia of fictitious adventure. . . . As if gold were the
most important thing in life!"

"It's handy at times," I commented.

"Would my fortune be of any value to me if I were dead?"

"No! . . . I believe that it serves no useful purpose in the next
world."

He chuckled to himself. "So you come to the basic fact that the
greatest 'treasure' I've found so far has been . . ."

"By Jove!" I exclaimed. "You mean _Glands_!"

"I do! I'm going gland-hunting!"

He allowed time for the announcement to penetrate into my startled
brain.

". . . Gorillas?" I asked, at last.

"Yes . . . !"

"It's absurd! You couldn't get enough of them to do any good. You might
shoot half-a-dozen in a whole year, and . . ."

"Who said 'shoot'? I want them _alive_, man, not dead!"

"Have you ever read anything about gorillas?" I asked, quietly.

"A great deal during the last few weeks. They're easily the most
ferocious and terrifying beasts in the world. Du Chaillu says that the
gorilla is the monarch of the African forest--that no other animal on
earth dare face it when it is enraged. Practically every game hunter of
any standing agrees on this point. Even a man armed with a modern gun
runs grave risks in an encounter with a gorilla. If the bullet misses
. . ." Gran'pa shrugged his shoulders.

"And yet you stand there," I said, "and tell me that you intend
_capturing_ them!"

"That's the whole charm of the thing. We have to devise some method,
George, of not only getting them in large quantities, but of getting
them alive and well. Every gorilla killed will represent the death
sentence of some human being--the loss of a new lease of life. That's a
terrible thought, George. It means a very great responsibility. . . ."

"Nonsense! People have been dying from old age ever since the world
began."

"So they have from lock-jaw, and consumption, and malaria, and a
thousand other complaints."

"That's no comparison. Death from old age is inevitable and . . ."

"Is it? What about me?"

"But sooner or later . . ." I said bluntly.

"Yes! I expect I shall . . . sooner or later. But the chief thing is
that I haven't yet. I _might_ have died of diphtheria nearly fifty
years ago; but medical science saved me. I might have died of malaria
once--but for quinine. Everyone who has reached my age--or only half
of it--has probably been saved at least once in his life. But it's
only a probability, George. In the majority of cases one cannot tell
for certain. With these glands, however, it is different. I know that
I've been rescued from death as surely as when a life buoy is thrown to
a drowning man. When the liner sinks in mid-ocean it's the number of
floatable commodities that determine the number of the saved. A man who
destroyed a life buoy at such a moment would be guilty of murder. And
that's precisely the attitude we must adopt towards this gorilla hunt.
A gorilla shot dead in the heart of Africa is a man murdered somewhere
at home. We _must_ catch them alive. . . ."

"I suppose it's possible," I said. "Otherwise, how did they get our
friend Alfred--and the one in the Zoo?"

"Naturally it's been done before, but not on a big enough scale. I very
much doubt if more than fifty or sixty of them have been captured alive
during the last century. That's much too slow for us. We shall want
them . . . in hundreds a month, at least. . . ."

"Sort of round them up, like rebels," I suggested.

"Flippantly put," he answered, dryly, "but substantially correct."

The insight required for such a gigantic undertaking was so utterly
beyond me that I simply could not treat the matter seriously.

"I don't quite understand the aeroplane part," I said. "Do you intend
flying over the jungle and lassoing them--or, what?"

"Don't be feeble, George. The aeroplanes are merely for _getting_
there. Where it took weeks for other men to travel a hundred miles
through the African jungle, we shall manage it in as many hours. We
could leave Gaboon at eight in the morning, say . . ."

"Where on earth is Gaboon?"

He treated the interruption--which was actually inspired by a genuine
thirst for knowledge--with contempt.

"You'll find it on any map of Equatorial Africa," he answered quietly.
"As I was saying, we could leave there at eight in the morning and be
in the heart of the gorilla country by ten o'clock at the latest. I
intend making Gaboon the headquarters."

It is extraordinary that I was not in the least astounded at the easy
and casual way in which Gran'pa was unfolding his plan of campaign.
My initial amazement once over, it seemed the most natural thing
in the world for a man to take gorilla-hunting aeroplane trips in
Africa. It was as if Gran'pa had merely said: "We'll make New York our
headquarters and motor over to West Point, Atlantic City and other
spots of interest."

For over two hours he sat there talking, joking, speculating; and every
query I raised was demolished swiftly and easily. There was little
doubt whatever that he had studied the matter very thoroughly. He knew
the country, the climate, the facilities for obtaining guides, the
habits and haunts of the gorillas, and even their "language."

When I showed symptoms of unbelief at this last item of knowledge, he
was evidently pleased with himself.

"I've been to Garner's works for that," he said. "You must remember
Garner. He was the explorer who for nearly four months lived in a wire
cage in one of the African forests. He says that both the chimpanzee
and the gorilla have a definite language of twenty words or more. They
have vocal expressions for 'food,' 'good'--in a sort of 'Thank-you!'
sense--'discomfort,' 'drink,' 'illness,' and even 'death.' Take this
for instance."

Gran'pa threw back his head, drew in his breath and imitated a weird
animal cry, as near as possible to the exclamation:

"_Ugh--h--h. . . ._" (trailing off in a long drawn aspirate sound).

"That," he explained, "means 'food.'"

He made a few more noises, preceded by facial contortions and deep
breathing exercises--which seemed to be the necessary preliminary to
this new ape language.

"There's a sound, too," he explained, "by means of which they call one
another. It goes like this: '?..?..?!'" (My powers of representation
fail me.)

"That may come in quite handy, George. Don't you think so?"

"Very!" I said. "If you have it right."

"I've tried it!" he laughed.

"On a live ape, d'you mean? When?"

"At the Zoo!"

"But . . ."

"I tried it on the chimpanzee--and it worked! At first, he looked as
if he knew quite well what it meant, but wouldn't bother to reply. So
I repeated it twice! He hesitated. Then he got up, came over to me and
commenced tugging at my sleeve and making peculiar little noises in the
back of his throat. Most astonishing thing I've ever seen, George. The
keeper--quite an intelligent fellow--was flabbergasted. Said he'd never
seen anything like it before."

"You mean you actually went in the cage?"

"Yes! . . . I also gave the 'alarm' signal--and what do you think the
brute did!"

"Heaven above knows!"

"Rushed into the corner of the cage and hid himself under the
straw. . . ."

I was impressed. Whatever other little weaknesses Gran'pa had, he never
lied, and never exaggerated.

Already, I was beginning to feel sorry for these Monarchs of the
African Forests. What chance had the poor wretches against a man like
this, with all the resources of civilization behind him? And yet . . .

"Granting all these possibilities," I said. "Supposing we do get to
Gaboon with our aeroplanes and our monkey-language system in full
working order. And supposing we do actually capture a few hundred of
the brutes alive. What then? You can't bring them back to headquarters
by aeroplane. . . ."

"Why not?"

"Oh . . . I don't know! It sounds so utterly damned silly."

"Not half so silly and impossible as some of the everyday exploits in
the war. It's child play compared with 'planing through a tornado of
bursting shells, or fighting battles a couple of miles up."

"I suppose it is. . . ."

Every argument I produced as to the unreasonableness of his schemes was
squashed in an instant.

"Well," I said, at last. "We have our apes--by the hundred. What then?
It's their glands you want; the brutes themselves, as far as you're
concerned, are merely perambulating depositories for the Elixir of
Life. You keep them alive simply to keep their glands alive. A dead
gland is useless, and . . ."

"Wait a moment, young man! Ever heard of cold storage?"

"It's the curse of the modern mutton trade," I observed.

"Possibly! Many scientists, however, consider it possible to keep
the thyroid gland active for at least three or four days after its
removal--if the thing is packed in ice. That'll help a great deal. I
intend shipping the apes to Walfisch Bay, and then taking the glands
by 'plane to a convenient spot in the Kalahari Desert--one of the
healthiest places in the world. It is there that we shall establish the
great Hospital for the Rejuvenation of the Aged."

I grew reckless in my concessions to the plausibility of the scheme.

"So far so good," I said. "We've accomplished even this. But what
about the patients? How many old men do you seriously think are going
to risk their lives by setting out on such an insane quest for youth?
There aren't a dozen men in England to-day who'd do anything half as
wild--especially old men of seventy--or eighty. All they want then is
peace--peace in which to end their days. That's the great cry of the
aged. And therein lies the final weakness of the whole thing, Gran'pa.
The idea is good, the plot is excellent, the adventure thrilling, the
. . ."

"Don't you worry, George!" he cried. "That's where, as a last
resource, the Press Campaign comes in. If necessary, I shall boom
this rejuvenescence of mine as nothing on earth has ever been boomed
before. I am willing to be photographed, interviewed, filmed, and
leading-articled until we're simply swamped with applications.
You don't understand human nature. The will to live comes before
everything. If there is no response from Englishmen I shall appeal to
America, although I would rather not experiment on my own countrymen
until I've gained more practical knowledge."

So the last stronghold of my long line of objections was razed to
the ground, and the discussion of this momentous fight against death
drew to a close. Was there ever a madder and more useless scheme than
this wretched monkey hunting for the aged? Like most young men of
this generation, I had very little respect for mere age. Everywhere
one turned one saw old men in charge of the world--men of fifty and
upwards. They monopolized all the best positions in the Government,
in business, in literature, in law, on town councils, in the Civil
Service, and in the army. They kept out the young and ambitious by
sneering at their inexperience and hot-headedness; they scoffed at
their love affairs; they even tried to arrange their marriages;
and--most iniquitous of all--they arranged wars in which the young
fought and died through the folly and greed of their forebears.

If only one could reduce the life span instead of lengthening it--bring
it down to fifty, say! If only one could speed up life by removing the
brake of the ancient, the doddering and the incapable, who hung on to
their jobs to the eternal detriment of the young! If only one could
make life fuller and quicker--instead of emptier and slower . . .

Was it right for me to sacrifice the men of my own generation in this
manner? Was it dignified? Was it noble?

I thought the matter out carefully. And in the end I came to the
conclusion that it simply did not matter. After all, the most Gran'pa
and I could hope to do was to save a few hundred of the old criminals.
If we caught all the gorillas in the whole of Africa, it would be no
more than a mere drop in the ocean. At the Continental spas alone what
does one see? The middle-aged, the old and ancient, crawling about in
useless thousands. . . . All the monkeys in the world couldn't save
more than a tenth per cent. of them.

And yet the thing might grow. There were other animals, perhaps, which
might contribute. Already, the goat provided valuable thyroid extracts.
Why not still others? Suppose the system was extended, and thousands
of animals were bred solely for their glandular possibilities! In the
course of a lifetime one man probably consumes dozens of sheep, oxen
and pigs, and yet in some mysterious way arrangements have been made
for a constant supply of these beasts. Why then should provision not
be made for, say, a couple of pairs of glands per life. If man wants a
commodity he usually gets it--sooner or later. He wanted tame dog, and
he got it. To-day, there must be millions of them on the earth. Science
might be clever enough some day to breed special gland-bearing animals,
whose prime function would be the salvation of the aged. It might take
generations or centuries to accomplish the miracle, but ultimately . . .

The thought staggered me--and I returned to my monkeys. If we didn't
start the business someone else would.

And so, at last, I gave way.

"To blazes with the Civil Service. . . ." I thought. "Why should I
moulder in an office when there are so many more interesting places in
the world?"

I found a map of Africa and discovered Gaboon and its principal port of
Libreville. It might have looked an outlandish spot, but at any rate it
looked exciting. I liked the shape of the river mouth; the country to
the east; the proximity of the Equator, which ran only a few miles to
the south; and the way the great blue sea spread out to the west.

I found Walfisch Bay and the Kalahari. And then I looked at the
tiny patch of dirt which we call England. I thought of the tedious
train journey from north to south of this island, and I measured the
distance on the same scale map of Africa. As I did so the immensity of
our task suddenly smote me in all its glory. It was uncanny to think
that all those thousands of miles away lay the great African jungles;
that at this precise moment, while I was peacefully smoking my pipe
in Richmond, there was another land in which the gorilla and the
chimpanzee roamed and fought and died; and that presently we should
commence invading their fastnesses and enlisting their services in aid
of the aged and decrepit of our own race.

I tried to picture the place--the tall trees, the ghostly undergrowth,
the sodden marshes, the hot, dripping climate, the wicked and cunning
little eyes which would watch us from the tree tops and the bushes as
we went on our errand of mercy. I tried to visualize native villages
and long, meandering rivers infested with crocodiles and hippopotami. I
feebly attempted to imagine what a herd of wild elephants looked like.
Did the porcupine erect its quills when angry and the lion slink away
at the sight and smell of you? What were the prevalent diseases in this
new land of hope and glory? Would the natives welcome us, or pursue
and torture and devour us? How much cheap jewelry and beads should we
require to bribe them to help us? Did they bother about such things
now, or had they moved with the times and installed picture palaces and
gramophones in their chief villages?

Even when I retired to bed that night I still went on speculating. My
poor, civilized brain was troubled with vague, terrorizing dreams,
manufactured no doubt from all I had ever read and heard of the
grotesque, the hideous and the cruel. I was pursued by cannibals,
bitten by mosquitoes, mauled by tigers, nibbled by swarms of ants,
and trampled on by wild elephants. But I never saw a single gorilla!
Monkeys I saw galore--little black-faced chattering creatures, hanging
by their tails from branches high overhead; also a horrid dog-faced
baboon pursuing Gran'pa (bearded and old and withered again!) down a
narrow pathway which led to the sea. But not a single gorilla! It was
very astonishing. Was it an omen, I wondered?

I got up in the morning feeling that I knew Africa through and through.
But when I looked out of the bedroom window the illusion was dispelled
immediately. I saw the garden in all its spring glory--the daffodils
and tulips, the plum blossoms, the green carpet of the lawn sprinkled
with white daisies, and then--Gran'pa, walking and talking very
earnestly in the sunshine with a little, ferocious-looking man in a
coat with a fur collar.

I watched them curiously, until they disappeared round the bend of the
path, and then I commenced dressing.

When I arrived downstairs Gran'pa and his companion were in the
dining-room chattering away like a couple of sparrows.

"Ah, George!" cried Gran'pa. "I quite forgot to tell you about Mr.
Stringer. He's come down from Scotland by the night train. I wrote and
asked him to make straight for Airesdale Avenue the moment he arrived,
and have breakfast with us. I wanted you to see him before you went to
town this morning. We're spending the day at the Zoo, and then going on
to Bristol this evening to see Boswell's Menagerie there."

I extended my hand towards Mr. Stringer, wondering what on earth it
was all about, and, as his fingers closed on mine and our eyes met, a
peculiar thrill seemed to travel up my arm and backbone, culminating
in a sudden tremor in the base of my skull. When he dropped my hand,
however, he still kept his eyes fixed on me for a second or two. Never
in all my life had I felt such a burning, penetrating gaze. It reached
out like a ray of light, half-dazzled me, and probed into every nook
and corner of my brain.

Suddenly, that unearthly sensation of being a frozen microbe under a
microscope was gone again, and I felt the blood come pumping back into
my ears--_thud!_ . . . _thud!_ . . .

"_You_ noticed it, George?" cried Gran'pa.

"I . . . er . . . certainly . . . noticed something," I stammered.

"Good! Mr. Stringer possesses one of the least known but most potent
forces in nature. He calls himself a hypnotist and mental healer, but
I prefer the older term, Animal Magnetism. I have great hopes of Mr.
Stringer--when we reach Africa. . . ."




CHAPTER VIII

WE SET OUT FOR BRISTOL


I looked at this man Stringer more closely, and was surprised to find
that he had now assumed a more normal and human appearance. It was
as if our initial handshake had liberated some hidden fountain of
fiendishness in him, and now that it was all over we were quite good
friends again.

As I studied him I couldn't help feeling that I had seen his face
before. And then I suddenly saw the reason of it. He had that peculiar,
much married, walrus-moustached appearance of Bairnsfather's "Old
Bill." He was a rather short, thick-set man, too, and wore the "Old
Bill" expression of eternal, philosophical contentment. Sitting there
in the arm-chair, with one stumpy leg crossed over the other, he might
easily have been this terrible "Fragment of the Great War" come to
life. But the moment he spoke, the similarity vanished. His moustache
bristled until it stood out nearly at right angles, his eyes flamed
with that hidden fire, and his whole attitude became one of extreme
animation. He seemed to _compel_ the listener's attention. And yet,
the very second he ceased speaking, the fire died down, the moustache
subsided and drooped, his body became listless. Once more, he was poor
"Old Bill"--harmless, inoffensive, and soothing to the senses. It was
certainly an extraordinary accomplishment and had no doubt taken years
to acquire; but I failed to see exactly what all this had to do with
hunting apes in Africa.

Gran'pa watched these signs of facial birth and decay with enthusiastic
approval.

"D'you see the idea, George?" he asked.

"I'm bothered if I do."

"It's as old as the hills--and yet it's new."

I racked my brains for an explanation, but found none.

"The only thing I can think of," I said at last, "is that you intend
hypnotically suggesting to the aged that they should hand themselves
over body and soul to the pioneers of this new Rejuvenation Cult."

"By Jove!" he laughed. "That's not bad, Stringer! Eh?"

"Old Bill" bristled--and then grinned expansively. This expression of
gentle mirth looked very quaint--the most anti-Old Billish thing one
could imagine. It was uncanny.

"Why not enlighten me?" I asked, somewhat testily.

"I'd rather not--just at present," answered Gran'pa. "You know how I
hate the thought of failure, George. There's a possibility that this
may end in failure. . . . I hope not, because, if it succeeds, it will
be the keystone of the whole system. Still, I'll tell you what we'll
do. You shall come down to Bristol with us this evening and see how the
theory works."

Beyond this I could not get. Gran'pa was adamant, and Stringer was
sphinx-like. To see them, one would have thought that I was a mere
outsider and that they had been life-long friends. I was tired,
however, of showing my incessant curiosity in Gran'pa's plans, and so I
acquiesced.

"Very well," I said. "I'll come!"

Gran'pa nodded.

"At the same time, George," he remarked, "I think that you might hand
in your resignation at the office to-day. We're going to be very busy
during the next few weeks. Now that Mr. Stringer has arrived, there is
no time to be lost."

I said very little more after that. I ate my breakfast quickly,
explained to Nanny that we should be away for a day or two, packed my
bag, came downstairs again, arranged to meet Gran'pa and Stringer in
town at about five o'clock, kissed Molly "Good-bye," and set out to
catch a train half-an-hour or so later than usual.

After the startling revelations of the previous evening, the horrible
dreams of the night, and the strange hypnotic shock of the early
morning I felt excited and desperate. Events had moved so swiftly that
I could hardly believe that less than twenty-four hours previously I
had not even heard of Gaboon, I had known next to nothing of gorillas
(beyond our old friend Alfred), and I certainly hadn't the remotest
idea of ever chasing and capturing them.

Naturally, I had realized that I should soon shake the dust of the
Government offices from my eager feet. I had known, too, that, with
a man like Gran'pa in the family, life could not much longer run in
the old, accustomed rut. But I had not expected the climax to come so
suddenly.

It was a glorious spring morning, and as I left the house I felt myself
possessed of a new body and mind.

I came through the town like a man in a dream--everything looked so
bright and fresh and clean--so different!

At "The King's Head" Hotel I paused. A 'bus was coming over the bridge,
all aglow with yellow sunlight, and I saw a girl in a bright blue
jumper standing on the pavement there, looking upstream. Another who
passed me had gold in her hair, and another had the whitest teeth I've
ever seen.

"Away with the office!" I thought. "Why should I bother myself?"

The river called me. I had no deep desire to go on it, but I wanted
very much to walk by it, and hear its merry gurgle and chatter. Why
should I catch the next train?

I crossed over to the tobacconist's shop at the corner, replenished my
pouch, and left my suit-case with him for awhile. Then I went down the
steps and on the riverside, where the boatmen were busy cleaning and
painting their punts and skiffs. Everywhere was warm sunlight, and the
smell of fresh air, and the pleasant sound of running water.

As I continued my way downstream something within me sang for joy. It
was a sort of _requiem_. Dead was the stodgy, stuffy old office! Dead
the daily train journey! Dead the scramble for mid-day lunch in the
dust of the city! Dead, at last, was the unending sameness of every
to-morrow. . . .

I smoked like fury! By the time I reached the Old Deer Park, I found
myself knocking out my pipe and filling and lighting it again. Onwards
I went, until I reached and entered Kew Gardens. In there, I watched
the wild ducks disporting themselves on the pond, and began wondering
if any of them came from Africa.

I even searched for and found trees which grew on the Dark
Continent. . . .

How green and sweet the grass was! (Better than the carpet in the
office.) I sat down on it and then turned over and lay with my
chin resting in cupped hands. Through half-closed eyes, I studied
the largest of the islands in the pond and speculated as to whether
anyone--other than the unappreciative officials--had ever ventured into
its jungle-like foliage.

A little black duck came out from one of the miniature bays in the
island, dived, and reappeared a dozen yards further out. It dived
again; and I pictured it beneath the green water, searching for fat
worms in the mud at the bottom.

"The open-air and--freedom!" I thought. "How good it is to be alive!"

Another pipe of tobacco gone!

When I had refilled it, I got up and crossed over to one of the
drinking fountains and swallowed a great draught of ice cold water.
(The water is wonderful at Kew! So clear and fresh and cold!)

I visited the green-houses and hot-houses. Still more visions of
Africa. . . . The heat was a little stifling, perhaps; but, who cared?

I spent over a quarter of an hour in the orchid house--until the
attendants apparently grew suspicious and the perfume half intoxicated
me.

Then, the open air again and still another pipe!

It was now eleven o'clock and the sun shone from a cloudless blue
sky--the same old sun that I should see in Gaboon and through the tree
tops of the African forests. . . . (A strange but comforting thought,
that--how the dear old sun follows its children into the uttermost
parts of the earth. Thank Heaven gorillas didn't live at the North
Pole! I hated cold.)

Homewards I came at last. Down the gravel pathways and across smooth
green lawns--(No "_Keep off the Grass_" notices in Kew Gardens!)--and
between bushes laden with white, glistening blossoms, and by the
side of tulip and hyacinth beds. And, everywhere, was the song of
birds. . . .

I tried, in a moment of voluntarily-imposed melancholy, to think of
the office and clerkdom. But I couldn't grip or visualize it. And yet
Africa seemed extraordinarily near and real.

Behind some bushes on the left, I caught a glimpse of the African
Crane--"Freddy," as Molly called him. He came striding along in that
haughty and lady-like way of his--an ash-gray symbol of the true poetry
of motion. I wondered if I should ever see his brothers and sisters in
their native habitat.

I strolled towards him, but he moved gracefully and disdainfully away.
Probably, he despised me. What did I, a wretched civil servant, know
of his life and ambitions? What right had I to pay a penny to come and
gaze at him as if he was some curio in a museum?

I agreed with him. When I reached Africa it was I who would be a
curiosity--I who would be an object of scrutiny and, possibly,
amusement. I recalled those wicked and cunning little monkey-eyes in my
dreams of the previous night, and I couldn't help laughing. It seemed
so ludicrous to think that presently the measure of my importance in a
Government office would be turned topsy-turvy and have to adjust itself
to the ape standard of the African jungle. What would be the value
of my civilized brain when pitted against their natural cunning and
cruelty and physical strength? Would they be impressed by the position
I took in that infernal entrance examination? Which would win--brains
or beef?

As I came out of the Gardens into the main road I heard the sound of
an aeroplane engine, looked up, and saw the black speck of machinery
travelling slowly up river. The pavements, the houses, the busses and
motor cars, and the people around me took on an air of unreality. In an
instant I was in Gaboon, setting out to fetch our daily cargo of live
gorillas.

"Whoa--guv'nor!" cried a voice.

I lowered my gaze just in time to avert a collision with a ladder and
innumerable pots and pans, and once more the paraphernalia of modern
civilization obtruded itself into my consciousness.

"Better 'phone to the office," I thought, "and let them know I'm not
coming to-day. I wonder who'll have to tackle that Wilson file now?
What a mess! What a conglomeration of correspondence and Board's
orders! What a fuss over nothing! Why do civil servants and their
overlords spend their lives in writing and talking and arguing with one
another?"

I didn't bother to answer the question--it all seemed such a feeble
waste of time and energy.

When I reached the station I entered a telephone box, got through to
the office at last, and broke the news to one of my colleagues--a tall,
thin, dyspeptic individual called Swanson--a "promotion" man who took
work very seriously, in the hope of some ultimate and earthly reward
for his industry and intelligence.

"Hello!" I said. "That you, Swanson? This is Barnett speaking."

"Anything the matter?" he asked. "Not ill, I hope."

"Yes! I'm taking sick leave at once. I'm sick of the work, sick of the
office, sick of the Civil Service--dead beat!"

A horrified pause. Then:

"You sound very cheerful in spite of it! What's happened? Any message
for the chief?"

"My love and blessings! Tell him that I'm going for a sea voyage--for
the good of my soul!"

"You're joking. . . ."

"Not a bit! I'm going to Gaboon."

"_Where?_"

"Gaboon! It's a health resort on the west coast of Equatorial Africa--a
favorite spot for day trips into the heart of the Gorilla Country."

Another pause. Poor old Swanson! Then:

"Are you really sending in a sick note, Barnett?"

"Dozens of 'em! I left the service at nine-thirty this morning,
relinquished my prospects of promotion, sacrificed my pension at sixty!
Isn't it exciting?"

"Been left some money?"

"Not a cent! I've merely found another job."

"You're pulling my leg!"

I detected a distinct note of envy in the exclamation. Even the
industrious Swanson felt that he would have been better off in the
business world than in the Civil Service.

"I'm an explorer!" I said. "If you're good, I shall send you some tusks
and things when I get to Gaboon."

"You don't mean to say that you actually are going to Africa?"

"All the way--and then some!"

At this point the exchange butted in with the simple explanation that
my time limit was up.

"Bye-bye!" I said. "I'll drop you a line. . . ."

I hung up the receiver, emerged from my box, and hurried out into the
sunlight again.

So that was _that_!

When I was in my right mind again I would write to my Lords the
Commissioners, and confirm my telephone message, but in my present mood
I should have found it impossible to sit down and subscribe myself as
their obedient servant, George Barnett. It was so palpably untrue. I
was nobody's servant this morning--nobody's!

Back in the town again the whim seized me to go into the Public Library
and glean a few interesting tit-bits about the gentle gorilla and its
playful ways. So I consulted the librarian, borrowed Du Chaillu's
"Equatorial Africa," and sat down and commenced reading.

It was an absorbing book; and on that bright, adventurous morning it
gripped me more fiercely than the finest love story ever written. Parts
of it made me shiver, and yet they fascinated. The description of one
disastrous encounter with a gorilla ran as follows:--

  "We picked him (a native) up and I dressed his wounds as well as I
  could with rags torn from my clothes. When I had given him a little
  brandy he came to himself and was able, but with great difficulty,
  to speak. He said that he had met the gorilla suddenly and face to
  face, and that it had not attempted to escape. It was, he said, a
  huge male, and seemed very savage. It was in a very gloomy part
  of the wood, and the darkness, I suppose, made him miss. He said
  he took good aim, and fired when the beast was only about eight
  yards off. The ball merely wounded it in the side. It at once began
  beating its breasts, and with the greatest rage advanced upon him.

  "To run away was impossible. He would have been caught in the
  jungle before he had gone a dozen steps.

  "He stood his ground, and, as quickly as he could, reloaded his
  gun. Just as he raised it to fire the gorilla dashed it out of his
  hands, the gun going off in the fall; and then in an instant, and
  with a terrible roar, the animal gave him a tremendous blow with
  its immense open paw, frightfully lacerating the abdomen and with
  this single blow laying bare part of the intestines. As he sank
  bleeding to the ground, the monster seized the gun, and the poor
  hunter thought he would have his brains dashed out with it. But the
  gorilla seemed to have looked upon this as an enemy, and in his
  rage almost flattened the barrel between his strong jaws.

  "This is their mode when attacked--to strike one or two blows, and
  then leave the victims of their rage on the ground and go off into
  the woods. . . ."

I was impressed. And, when I thought of Gran'pa's intention of taking
these huge, muscular, six-foot brutes alive and unharmed, I was almost
stupefied. It seemed impossible. Indeed, the writer of the book I was
reading said that up to that time (1860) no fully grown male gorilla
had ever been taken alive.

The more I pondered on the matter, the more was I struck by the
dangerous novelty of our undertaking. Elephants might be shot for their
tusks, tigers and leopards for their skins, bears for their fur, and
hundreds of other animals for the love of the chase. But we were far
superior to this form of sport. We were going out with the express
intention of getting "the goods"--these terrible monarchs of the
African jungle--in all their living and ferocious glory. I had little
doubt that Gran'pa had already thought out some method, but I didn't
see how it could be of the slightest use unless backed by actual,
practical experience--of which he had none.

I closed the book I had been reading, handed it back to the librarian,
mentally shook myself, and emerged once more into the sunny streets
of civilization. For the first time that day I found the sight of my
fellow creatures comforting and soothing. My enthusiasm was as great
as ever, but it was tinctured by a grim realization of the extreme
difficulty of our task.

I could see that a gorilla in the bush was far worse than two in a
menagerie. Alfred, for all his ferocity, had been no more than a pale
ghost of his wild brothers in the woods. Confinement and our wretched
English climate must have softened his physique, even if they hadn't
softened his temper. And yet I shuddered at the thought of meeting
Alfred loose, in Richmond Park, say, and having to capture him
alive. _Jiujitsu_ would be useless; so would lassoing, or boxing, or
wrestling. The strength of even half a dozen men rolled into one would
be no match for such a colossal and muscular mechanism.

I could think of no reliable method save the very one which was
taboo--a steady aim, the right moment, a sudden explosion, and the
deadly bullet. What could Gran'pa's plan be? I gave it up. Neither my
brains (nor my glands) were equal to the solution of such a problem,
and so I cast about for something of more immediate interest--and had
lunch.

After that, I felt much quieter, and the African jungle temporarily
receded to its proper position in suburban life.

The afternoon was still before me, but I felt too much like a truant
schoolboy to venture home--Molly would have been so inquisitive and
Nanny so curious. Strange it was, especially at such a time as this,
that I should be afraid of two mere women; but even big game hunters
are human. . . .

I went across Petersham Common and back along the river side. Then I
picked up my suit-case at the tobacconist's, got a 'bus to the station
and proceeded to town.

Gran'pa and Stringer met me, as arranged. They were very excited and
the hypnotist was bristling with animation.

"Most interesting, George!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "But I shan't be
satisfied until we've been to the menagerie at Bristol."

My brain suddenly cleared.

"I can half guess!" I said.

"Has it only just dawned on you?" he cried.

I bowed my head, ashamed of my previous dulness.

"You're going to hypnotize them!" I gasped.

Gran'pa was in excellent form and as merry as a youth of twenty. It was
absurd to think that he was nearly a hundred.

"In common parlance, George, we intend putting the 'fluence' on
'em. Calling them, staring them into submission, and then suddenly
_commanding_ them. It's the old story of the lion-tamer and the lions,
with this difference. Instead of having to deal with the lower and less
intelligent order of animals, we have the great advantage of applying
the same method to brutes which are second only to men. What the
politician does to the crowd, the tub-thumper to the mob, the religious
revivalist to the sinner--_we_ shall do to the apes. Man-mind against
monkey-mind. It's _brains_ that count, my boy! Brains! . . ."

"Did it work at the Zoo?" I asked.

"Partly. But what can one expect there? The poor wretches are half
stupefied. There isn't a really wild, alert animal in the place. Their
minds are drugged with captivity and monotony and unnatural food.
A test like this is of little value until we try it under normal
conditions."

We had dinner and, at Gran'pa's instigation, Stringer gave the order.

It was astounding to see the masterful way he glanced round the room,
beckoned the appropriate waiter to our table and sent him rushing away
again.

A few minutes later, the first course was before us--as if by magic!

Never have I had such a quick, well-served dinner, or encountered such
a courteous, electrified waiter. The man's soul was not his own. It was
simply a pawn in the hand of a skilful player.

   "The ball no question makes of ayes or noes,
    But right or left, as strikes the player, goes."

Even the God of Omar shrank into insignificance by the side of ours.

"I'm sorry for that waiter," whispered Gran'pa to me. "But I'm sorrier
for those gorillas. We have them like that!"

He took up a crisp roll of bread and broke it in two.

"There's a vast difference between a tame waiter and a wild African
gorilla," I pointed out, thinking of some of the gruesome accounts I
had been reading that morning.

"Give me the gorilla!" laughed Gran'pa. "Much more intelligent and
useful. It could fetch and carry every bit as well as that man; eh,
Stringer?"

Stringer nodded and went on eating.

He looked as if he had a weight on his mind. Like all great men, he
seemed to hold himself a little aloof from his fellow creatures.
Possibly, his soul was too busy at the switchboard of his mental
machinery to notice external trifles. I pictured it dashing
perspiringly up and down the corridors of his brain, pulling first this
lever and then that--turning on the various currents required to subdue
his weaker brethren. And yet he was not all soul. His colossal appetite
dispelled any such illusion as that. He ate ravenously, quickly, and a
trifle piggishly. He also kept a watchful eye on the wine bottle.

When we had finished, Gran'pa tipped the waiter twice as much as
usual--conscience money!

"How do you feel?" he asked, gently.

The poor, exhausted wretch looked startled and puzzled for a moment, as
if someone had suddenly probed into one of the most cherished secrets
of his life.

"Like . . . that!" he gasped, dropping his hands limply to his side.

"But why did you hurry so much?" persisted Gran'pa, in an undertone.

"Dunno, sir! Couldn't help it. . . . It was like as if something had
'old of me."

"Where?"

". . . Right down . . . inside!"

Gran'pa chuckled to himself.

"You'll feel better in the morning," he said. "Don't let it worry you.
You'll be able to take it quietly again to-morrow night. . . ."

We emerged into the street and commenced walking towards Piccadilly
Circus.

"_That's the stuff to give 'em!_" quoted Gran'pa. "It's very wonderful,
George! The sort of thing one can't explain. Call it Animal Magnetism,
Hypnotism, 'Fluence' or what you like, and you're still no nearer.
It must be a _force_, as inexplicable and yet as undefinable as the
ability some men have of immediately making friends with other men or
even animals. The thing is, can we turn it on the gorilla? Can we call
him in his own language, or entice him into the magnetic field in some
other way, and then suddenly take all the wind out of his sails and
render him inert and submissive?"

"I don't think you realize the kind of brute we're up against," I said.
"It's the most ferocious and dangerous animal in the jungle. It is
absolutely fearless, and it possesses the strength of half-a-dozen men
at least. What chance will a parrot cry and a hypnotic 'glare' have
against such a creature?"

"That's what we're going to find out. The gorilla has many advantages
over us, but, in the end, we have _the_ advantage--a human brain. To
begin with, I'll guarantee that I could disguise myself so that no
gorilla could tell me from one of its own kind at half-a-dozen yards
away."

I forewent the obvious and flippant retort to this. I said, instead:

"Your idea is to dress up Mr. Stringer as a sort of hypnotic
super-gorilla?"

"Precisely!"

Stringer was trotting along by our side as though quite oblivious
of the fact that he would play such a vital part in our plans. He
certainly listened to our talk, but he listened as if only out of
mere politeness. He made no comment and gave no sign of emotion.
Sphinx-like--Old-Bill-like--he was one of the most uncanny specimens of
humanity I had met. I don't think he had spoken a dozen words during
the whole evening. Was he brooding over a secret sorrow; or was he
merely taciturn and unsociable?

At Piccadilly Circus, we took the Tube to Paddington Station and, about
half-an-hour later, were _en route_ to Bristol.

It was then that Stringer spoke.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, "I think I'll have a little nap. I'm
very tired."

"Do so by all means!" answered Gran'pa.

We had the carriage to ourselves, and Stringer immediately stretched
himself out on the opposite seat, placed my suit-case under his head
and dropped off to sleep as easily and naturally as a child.

"Queer chap . . ." whispered Gran'pa. "But what can one expect? A man
with a power like his must be abnormal."

"Yes. . . . I suppose so!"

"He simply doesn't know what fear is. He handled that gorilla and
chimpanzee at the Zoo like a mother of ten managing her latest arrival.
And yet he'd never seen anything bigger than a pet monkey before."

I was astonished--but refused to show it in front of Gran'pa.

"How did you discover him?" I asked.

"Advertised, and then wrote and arranged an interview. He used to be a
lion-tamer. At the same time, I fixed up with those menagerie people at
Bristol to allow me a few minutes intercourse with their gorilla. They
have what is supposed to be one of the finest specimens in Europe; and,
what is better still, it's wild. Every attempt at taming it has proved
useless."

"A sort of Alfred the Second," I suggested.

"By jove!" he murmured, reminiscently. "It seems twenty or thirty years
ago since . . . that affair. To tell the truth, I can't recollect much
about the brute. Was it very ferocious?"

I remembered how it had torn at the bars of its cage in a mad endeavor
to get at Gran'pa, and how it had nearly removed a handful of his beard.

"It is not seemly that we should speak ill of the departed," I said,
"but Alfred was the most vindictive-looking and malicious-minded beast
I've ever seen."

"Anyway, _I_ can never repay the debt I owe him . . ." mused Gran'pa.
"It's strange to think that millions of years ago we severed our
connection with the apes and strode upwards into manhood; and now . . .
we're returning to them again to save the aged of our race."

"It's like making brothers of our first cousins," I observed.

Our conversation trickled on for some time in this speculative vein
until, at last, Gran'pa said that he would follow Stringer's example.

"It's been a very busy day," he said, with a yawn. "And I'm not as
young as I used to be, George. . . ."

If ever a truth sounded like an untruth, that phrase certainly did.

He made himself comfortable in the corner of the seat and was soon
asleep. On the other hand, I was more wide awake than I had been for
years. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy. Who would have thought,
twelve months ago, that I should ever travel in the same railway
carriage as a mental magnetist and a middle-aged man of ninety-five?
Who could have guessed that I, George Barnett, of His Majesty's
Civil Service, would ever have the opportunity of seeking fame and
monkey-glands in the jungles of Africa?

For a long time I thus ruminated on the past. And then I suddenly
turned to the future.

The train had stopped. I looked out of the window.

"Bristol!" I cried. "Wake up!"




CHAPTER IX

GRAN'PA DIGS UP AN OLD ROMANCE


As it was eleven o'clock when we reached Bristol, we immediately made
for the nearest hotel, partook of a light supper, and went to bed.

"We're being called at six-thirty sharp in the morning," said Gran'pa,
as we parted on the landing. "Breakfast's at a quarter-past seven, and
we reach the menagerie at eight. They leave for Gloucester at ten.
Night-night!"

In five minutes I was in bed, in another ten sound asleep. I dreamt a
little, but not as hideously and consistently as during the previous
night; and at the appointed hour next morning I arose with a feeling of
exuberant expectation. To-day, I should witness the Great Prelude to
Adventure. After ten years of lingering death in a Government office
the resurrection had come. I was alive!

Although each of us tried to conceal the fact, we were very excited
and ate far less breakfast than usual. Stringer, on whom the brunt of
the situation would naturally fall, was quite abstemious. He consumed
only one piece of bacon and a little toast. But he drank three cups of
strong coffee--and looked much better for it. . . .

Breakfast over, we took a taxi to the huge canvas town on the outskirts
of the city.

Already, at the early hour of eight o'clock, it was thronged with
industrious, gesticulating citizens who were knocking pegs from out
of the ground, loosening ropes, and lowering and rolling up the vast
expanse of gray-white canvas. Little columns of blue smoke ascended
vertically and steadily from the caravan chimneys into the still air;
there was the confused noise of many people talking and shouting; the
smell of trodden orange peel, frizzling bacon, and wild beasts; the
thud of horses' feet on the soft turf; and then, suddenly, the sound of
a man crying out: "Go easy, damn your eyes! . . . Mind that rope, Jim!"

We wended our way through the litter and commotion and smell, until
we found some responsible-looking person who conducted us to the
proprietor's caravan, a travelling palace of yellow and black, with its
brasswork shining in the morning sun like burnished gold. There we met
the strange man who amassed wealth by the simple method of exhibiting
wild animals in cages, freaks on platforms, ladies and gentlemen on
galloping horses. He shook hands with us, looked curiously at Stringer
for a few moments, and then led the way to an isolated cage situated in
one corner of the field.

"I had it brought up here into a quiet spot where you won't be
disturbed," he said.

A canvas curtain was hung over the front of the van and when this had
been removed we found ourselves confronted by a sheet of plate glass,
behind which were the steel bars that kept our friend the gorilla at
bay.

"Consumption is the greatest danger we have to face," said the
proprietor. "Next to that, we have to guard against cold. You'll notice
the cage is specially made for keeping contaminated air out and the
heat in--particularly during the performances and in cold weather. The
atmosphere is kept moist by means of an electric heater in that pool
of salt water, and the four radiators you see maintain a temperature
varying from about 60 to 90 degrees each day--which is the average
variation in the jungle. Nothing is worse for the gorilla than a
constant degree of heat, which one never finds under natural conditions.

"Over nursing and pampering is another danger. Given careful attention
to all these details, there seems to be no reason why gorillas
shouldn't live for twenty or thirty years in captivity. We've had this
one over ten years, and he's as strong and healthy as the day he landed
at Southampton. He's a very fine fellow and weighs two hundred and
fifty pounds and measures six foot one--in his socks!"

During the whole of this instructive little speech I had been
watching the brute carefully--as carefully (but not as maliciously)
as he watched us--and I was astounded at the formidable and muscular
immensity of his frame. Alfred seemed but a child compared with the
specimen before us. One sensed the capacity for merciless cruelty
and cunning behind those alert, dark gray eyes, terrific strength in
the long arms, and horrible, crushing properties in the tremendous,
projecting jaws. "Monarch of the Jungle" was a feeble expression for
such a creature. Fiend Incarnate would have been more appropriate. When
I glanced at Stringer through the corner of my eyes I half shuddered.
The contrast between these two antagonists was ludicrous--as ludicrous
as Charlie Chaplin _versus_ Carpentier.

Gran'pa was the first of us to break the silence.

"I congratulate you, sir!" he said in quiet and dignified phraseology.
"Your knowledge of the treatment of these animals in captivity should
prove of very great assistance to me later. Meanwhile--is it possible
to remove the plate glass?"

It was! In less than ten minutes half-a-dozen men had taken down the
great metal framework in which it was set (and clamped to the cage),
and there was nothing between us and the gorilla save a row of metal
bars.

We heard the beast give a deep sigh, as if it appreciated a greater
sense of freedom. It raised itself on the layer of earth which covered
the bottom of the cage, stretched its immense arms to their fullest
extent, inflated its chest, and then came waddling across to the
corner nearest to Stringer, swinging its arms to preserve its balance.
Clutching at the bars with its hands, it squatted down, drew back its
flap-like lips in an expression of intense hatred, and began glaring
steadily and evilly at "Old Bill's" double. Call it merely imagination
if you like, but I am certain that it instinctively sensed him as an
enemy of its race.

For fully a minute, none of us uttered a sound. Gran'pa was holding his
breath expectantly, the Menagerie Man looked on with a sort of detached
interest, and Stringer was evidently battling with all the powers of
his strange and uncanny nature--returning stare for stare--as immobile
and silent as a statue.

Suddenly, the brute let out a terrible and blood-curdling shriek, which
sent an ice cold wave down my spine. It shook at the bars of the cage,
ground its teeth, and quivered with rage. Then it abruptly relaxed,
dropped its arms to its side and went waddling away into the corner
furthest away from Stringer. Clearly, it was already very shaken and
intimidated and kept turning its head from side to side in dismay.

The Menagerie Man grunted, Stringer lowered his bristling moustache and
Gran'pa took a deep breath. The moment he did this I guessed what was
coming.

"?..?..? !...?..?..? !..." Gran'pa cried.

It was a peculiar, clucking, guttural sound, which came from the back
of the throat, and the second it was uttered the great ape turned its
head and listened in amazement to its native call.

"?..?..? !" repeated Gran'pa, kindly but firmly.

The brute hesitated, as if still uncertain whether to respond or not.

At last it found its voice and answered--in identical tones! Gran'pa
repeated the signal, at the same time whispering:

"Quick, Stringer! Over here!"

And then the miracle happened. The gorilla hurried waddlingly across to
us, Gran'pa and Stringer exchanged places, and the latter looked the
brute full in the face, and suddenly emitted a monosyllabic ejaculation
which sounded like:

"_Tchah!_"

The gorilla's eyes lost their ferocity, its lips closed over the
hideous teeth, its arms and body grew limp, and a plaintive whine
escaped it, like a human cry of distress.

The next moment Stringer the Fearless, had extended a hand into the
cage and gently pressed the gorilla's head to the ground!

If ever an animal knew its master, that poor subjugated brute in the
cage certainly did. It literally bit the dust, and from the peculiar
noise it kept making I gathered that it was conscious of draining
the cup of indignity to the last dregs. My heart went out to it in
its almost human agony. Had any animal ever before been in such a
shameful position as this harmless, inoffensive ape, crouching there
on all fours, like a slave beneath the foot of a Roman Emperor? Had
there ever before been such an instance of all-conquering mental
prowess as Stringer's victory over this two hundred and fifty pound
personification of muscular cruelty?

Gran'pa and I and the Menagerie Man stood there spell-bound and
breathless, whilst Stringer slowly stroked the huge head and pulled at
the little, furry ears.

"_Be careful!_" whispered Gran'pa.

But the warning came a second too late. With amazing swiftness the
brute had suddenly shot out its long, hairy arm, gripped Stringer round
the waist and tugged him to the bars of the cage.

As he struck them we heard the breath driven from his body, as if he
had been hit a terrific blow below the belt, and the ape gave a hideous
cry of triumph--long and deep, like the rolling of a drum.

We flung ourselves on the encircling arm, tearing at it and hammering
it with clenched fists, but it was like trying to remove an iron band.
The muscles were as hard as stone and I felt them quivering as they
contracted more and more closely.

"Quick, George! Get that crowbar!" cried Gran'pa.

I turned round, rushed over to the spot where the implement was lying,
some half-a-dozen yards away, and picked it up.

By dint of great effort, we managed at last to thrust it between the
arm and Stringer. Then we pulled, lever fashion, using the bottom of
the cage as a fulcrum.

"_Harder!_" shouted Gran'pa.

As the three of us tugged and strained we heard the wood splinter
and give a little, and with a moan of anguish the imprisoned man
collapsed. But there was still no sign of capitulation on the part
of the gorilla. It held on firmly and stoically and resolutely--the
embodiment of inexorable revenge.

Above the fierce pounding of my heart, I heard the sound of running
footsteps on the soft turf and, an eternity later, two men arrived.

"Grab it--and pull!" cried the Menagerie Man.

Even with the five of us straining our utmost at that crowbar the brute
would not relax a muscle.

"Hold on . . . a minute . . ." gasped Gran'pa, suddenly letting go.
"I've an idea!"

We hung on grimly and doggedly, and as we did so we saw the gorilla
slowly wriggling its body upwards until its great jaws were opposite to
Stringer's face, which was resting limply against the bars of the cage.

In a flash Gran'pa was to the rescue. He pulled the unconscious man's
head away from the menace of those awful teeth, took out a penknife,
and suddenly jabbed it into the fleshiest part of the brute's arm.

There was a scream of pain, a spluttered, half-human curse, a sudden
relaxation, and the next moment everything gave way and we were
sprawling on the ground.

We arose to the most frightful pandemonium imaginable. The gorilla
was rushing excitedly round the cage, shaking at the bars, tearing up
the earth with its hands, and flinging the stuff at us in a paroxysm
of fury. Its language was hideous, and consisted of a series of short
barks and high-pitched screams, which made my ears sing and sent the
blood rushing through my veins like cold water.

"Can't you do anything?" I shouted at Gran'pa. "_Speak_ to it, man!"

He inflated his chest, advanced towards the cage, and gave that weird,
inexpressible cry which in ape language was intended to signify alarm.

Three times he repeated it at the top of his voice. Gradually, the
enraged brute grew quieter, uttered a moan of distress and retreated to
a corner of the cage, shivering with fear. There it sat, like an old
man, nursing its wounded arm and whimpering to itself about the callous
injustice of life.

The Menagerie Man stared at Gran'pa and then at the gorilla.

"_Phew!_" he breathed, wiping his perspiring brow. "I don't know
whether I'm on my head or my heels. It's . . . like a nightmare."

We picked up poor little Stringer, who had now regained consciousness,
carried him into the nearest caravan and sent for a doctor. When he
arrived we were informed that there were no injuries, beyond a couple
of broken ribs and a severe bruising. This was certainly bad enough,
but we all felt that it had been a miraculous escape--and a distinct
warning to us not to tamper with the unknown forces of nature.

"This hypnotism," I said to Gran'pa, presently, "isn't going to be
reliable enough a method. It's too risky. If that had happened in the
African jungle there'd have been no Stringer left to tell the tale
afterwards."

"Nonsense!" he replied. "The conditions out there will be quite the
reverse of here."

"That's just what I've been saying!"

"I'm afraid you miss my point, George. What I mean is that _we_ shall
be in the cage and the gorillas outside. We shall simply adopt the
procedure followed by 'What's-his-name?'--that explorer--when he was
studying the chimpanzee and gorilla in their native haunts. _He_ lived
in the cage, and the apes wandered around it. Surely that's simple
enough!"

"Everything is--the moment _you_ tackle it!" I exclaimed.

"Now don't be sarcastic, George! If you wish to withdraw just because
of this little setback. . . ."

"I made no such suggestion. I'm keener than ever. But it's just as well
to anticipate the difficulties we're bound to encounter."

"That's what I've been doing all along. Why do you think I've taken so
much trouble over these initial experiments? Wasn't it with the idea of
perfecting our method of attack before we actually get there?"

It seemed boorish to criticize a man so invincibly logical, and I
tendered an apology for having done so.

"I think you'll agree, however," I said, "that we must have something
better to fall back on than mere hypnotism."

"Granted! I've given much thought to the question."

"Any result?" I asked, anxiously.

"Y-e-s! I think I've pretty well solved it at last. Roughly, my plan is
to wait in the cage with Stringer, call the gorilla to us, hold him for
a moment or two with the magnetic gaze, and then let him have a whiff
or two of gas!"

"Do you mean poison gas?" I gasped.

"Not exactly! We shall stupefy him and make him unconscious, if
possible, but the stuff mustn't go beyond that. It won't have to leave
any injurious effects behind. I've already ascertained that such a
thing is possible."

"Your ingenuity is . . . limitless!" I exclaimed.

"It's necessary . . ." he answered, simply.

"I should think it is! Upon my word, Gran'pa!"

"_Ah!_ Here's our friend the circus proprietor!"

He had just returned from issuing orders to some of his men and looked
very pensive.

"I'm sorry all this trouble should have occurred, Mr. Boswell," said
Gran'pa. "Particularly the episode with the knife. . . . If there is
any monetary compensation I can make, I hope you won't fail to . . ."

"Well," interrupted the other. "I think you've knocked a good bit off
his value. He's never been exactly gentle in his ways, but he's a
thousand times worse now than ever he was." He paused and then said,
expressively: "I've just had another look at him. . . ."

"Oh, he'll quieten down again in a day or two."

The Menagerie Man shook his head.

"A brute like that never forgets--and never forgives. He'll brood on
it. I shall have to strengthen that cage. Already he's bent a couple of
the bars. . . ."

"But surely he's shown signs of a temper before this!"

"Yes! But not _spitefully_. Once a brute like that gets spiteful it's
the very devil to pay. He'll start flinging earth about, screaming at
people--doing anything he can to annoy or destroy."

Gran'pa looked a little ashamed of himself (but very interested).

"I can hardly believe that this affair will change his whole nature,"
he said. "At any rate, I sincerely hope not. I can only express my
deepest regret, Mr. Boswell; and, as I said before, if there is
anything I can do in the way of . . ."

"It's knocked at least a good fifty pounds off his value . . ."
observed the Menagerie Man, half to himself.

"That's a rather high figure."

"Well, we'll say forty. . . ."

Gran'pa looked a little annoyed. But in the end he paid up, and
half-an-hour later we were conveying the bruised and broken Stringer by
car to a hospital, where he was eventually trussed up in splints and
bandages and handed over to us again for removal to town.

In the first class compartment which we reserved, he looked very
quaint, sitting perfectly stiff and straight, with a couple of pillows
behind his back.

"THIS SIDE UP! WITH CARE!" I couldn't help thinking.

"Any pain?" asked Gran'pa.

"Not much! It's a numbed sensation--with a sharp twinge every now and
again."

H

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