A MEMBER OF THE CLAN
DR. INMAN SHONTO, always an early riser, was the first one stirring at
El Trono de Tolerancia the following morning. He left the log house by
the door through which he had entered it the night before, and gazed
off into the timberland to the east, through which Andy and he had
reached the place. He turned and walked around the cabin, and then he
realized what Charmian Reemy had meant when she stated that it was next
to impossible for one to be intolerant when he looked from her home to
the west.
The cabin was set on a gigantic rock that overhung the brow of the
mountain. A metal railing had been erected along the edge of the rock
to prevent the unwary from plunging down at least forty feet to the
rock’s massive base. From the base the land sloped off sharply for
perhaps half a mile. And beyond that it continued to slope more gently
to level wooded stretches below. The great forest over which one looked
would have seemed endless were it not for the broad Pacific in the far
distance, which began at the end of the mass of green and rolled on to
the uttermost ends of the earth.
Never in his life had the nature-loving man seen a more gorgeous
picture. It seemed that the very world was laid out for him to gaze
upon from that gaunt pinnacle. He stepped to the iron rail, cold
and dewy, grasped it in his strong, lean hands, and stood there,
bareheaded, reverent.
“Do you feel tolerant of all mankind now, Doctor?” came a low voice at
his elbow.
Shonto wheeled about, startled, as if awakened from a dream. Charmian
Reemy stood beside him, dressed in a man’s flannel shirt, a divided
whipcord skirt, and high-laced boots. She had combed her dark brown
hair, but had not stopped to do it up. It fell in a cataract, gleaming
bronze-gold with the rays of the early-morning sun behind her, almost
to her knees. She was smiling that smile which lifted one corner of her
mouth in a whimsical little twist.
“I am tolerant of all mankind,” said the doctor seriously. “But now
that you have come, I don’t know whether to look at you or--that.” And
he pointed over the mysterious forest to the sea, which seemed to stand
upright before him as if painted on a huge canvas.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“I know it--you’re almost beautiful.”
“But that,” she said, pointing over the forest, “is not only beautiful
but mighty--stupendous. You’d better look at that, Doctor.”
“The redwood forests are mighty,” he told her, “but they are no more
beautiful than the redwood lily that hides in the perpetual shade they
cast. One cannot say that the giant redwood tree is more wonderful
than the slender lily at its feet. Both are the product of nature’s
mysterious laboratory. And you are, too.”
“Speaking of tolerance,” she went on, without comment upon his
comparison, “don’t you think that we could all be more tolerant of
others if we only would look at every one we meet as a distinct product
of nature? I mean this: We say, ‘Here is a redwood tree. Isn’t it
magnificent?’ Or, ‘Here is a redwood lily. Doesn’t it smell sweet?’
Or, ‘Here is a buckthorn bush. Aren’t its spines prickly?’ We never
think of comparing them. We would not say, ‘This redwood lily is puny
compared with a redwood tree.’ Or, ‘This buckthorn bush is so prickly.
I don’t think nearly so much of it as I do of the whitethorn bush,
which has beautiful flowers and is soft to the touch.’ Wouldn’t that
sound ridiculous! We accept all things in nature as they are, except
man. For man we have set a standard, and he must live up to it or be
forever displeasing to us. I wonder if you know what I’m talking about.”
“I think I understand you perfectly,” replied Shonto. “And I believe
that you are entirely right. In fact, my life’s work is based on what
you have just expressed.”
“The glands?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Won’t you please explain? We have lots of time. None of the others are
up yet.”
Dr. Shonto was tempted. “It is my firm belief,” he said, “that man’s
daily life--all that he does and all that he is--depends almost
entirely upon his gland secretions. His height, his attitude toward
others, the colour of his complexion, his strength or weakness, his
ability or lack of ability--all this, and much more, is controlled by
his glands, or their secretions. The glands are collections of cells
which make substances that bring about a specific effect on the economy
of the body. The microscope proves that every gland is a chemical
factory, and the product of these factories is their secretions. For
instance, the sweat glands manufacture perspiration, the lachrymal
glands manufacture tears.
“The thyroid gland--the most interesting of all--consists of two
dark-red masses in the neck, above the windpipe, and near the larynx.
A narrow strip of the same tissue connects them. The secretion of the
thyroid glands is called thyroxin, and it contains a relatively high
per cent of iodine. The more thyroid a person has the faster does he
live. An abundance of thyroid causes one to feel, sense, and think more
quickly. The less he has the slower will be his mental processes. And
the thyroid gland puts iodine into our blood.
“Sea water, you know, contains iodine. And as man was originally a
creature of the sea, iodine is necessary to his existence. There is
little or no iodine in the food we eat, so, when man became a land
animal, Nature gave him the thyroid gland to supply him with this
necessary element. In certain parts of the world--in high altitudes and
fresh-water regions--the water does not contain enough iodine. In such
regions goiter is prevalent.
“To sum up very briefly the workings of the thyroid gland, life is
worth while when it is sufficiently active; and when it is not, life is
a burden to the unfortunate individual so affected. It is my belief,
then, that when we come to know more about the glands we will realize
that man is regulated by them. Then we will be more tolerant, won’t
we?--and seek to rectify the errors rather than condemn promiscuously?
“It would be next to impossible for me to tell you all that has been
discovered about the functions of the various glands. There are the
thyroids, the pituitary, the adrenals, the pineal, the thymus, the
interstitial, the parathyroids, and the pancreas to be dealt with; but
for you and me the thyroids are by far the most important. And I regret
to say that I am not in a position to go into the matter thoroughly
with you at this time.”
“But you haven’t told me anything!” she expostulated.
He looked at her gravely. “I really do not feel free to discuss the
subject,” he said. “I hope you’ll pardon me.”
Her dark eyes showed a trace of embarrassment as she turned them upon
his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I guess it
was stupid of me to ask a specialist to disclose his secrets to me.”
“It’s not that,” he told her. “But there is a reason why I must refrain
from discussing this subject with you just now. Perhaps at some later
date I shall find it possible to go into the matter more fully. And
you don’t need to apologize. I have no professional secrets. But, as I
said, for a rather strange reason, I must not be the one to initiate
you into the mysteries of the gland secretions, and what science has
accomplished in the way of treating patients who are lacking in these
secretions. I’m extremely sorry, Mrs. Reemy, for I must confess that,
ordinarily, I like to talk about my work.”
She continued to gaze at him, completely mystified; then she showed her
good breeding by dropping the subject entirely.
“I have thought up a name for the undiscovered valley,” she announced.
“Good! Let’s have it.”
“The Valley of Arcana.”
Dr. Shonto lifted his scanty eyebrows. “Arcana,” he repeated. “That
sounds familiar. Let me paw through my vocabulary.... I’ve got it.
‘Arcanum’ is the singular, isn’t it? And it means something hidden from
ordinary men. In medicine it means a great secret remedy--a panacea.
But you use it in the first sense--a mystery. Or in the plural,
‘arcana’--mysteries. The Valley of Mysteries. Good! A dandy!”
“Give Webster the credit,” she said demurely. “I stumbled upon the word
by accident last night, browsing through the dictionary in search of
something new. I’m surprised, and a little piqued, that you knew the
meaning. I thought I was springing something on you.”
She turned her head quickly as she spoke, and once more the doctor saw
the pink creep into her cheeks.
“Mr. Jerome is up,” she said, “and is coming around the house to find
us. Don’t say anything. I mean, don’t call his attention to that.” She
pointed over the glistening forest to the sea once more. “I want to
see how he reacts to it when he steps up here and finds it suddenly
stretched out before him.”
“I’d like to ask you a question,” the doctor declared quickly. “Do you
really intend to go to the Shinbone Country?”
“Why, certainly--if everything turns out all right.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
“But it is rather late in the season for such an undertaking, isn’t it?
Winter is almost upon us.”
“But doesn’t the assessment work have to be done on the opal mines
immediately in order to hold them?”
“I’d forgotten about that,” said Shonto.
And then came Andy’s “Good morning,” as he stepped to the rail beside
Charmian and caught his first glimpse of the stupendous scene below him.
“Lord!” he breathed. “Oh, Lord! Look at that!”
And Charmian Reemy smiled. Andy Jerome had shown himself to be a member
of her clan.