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.