THE ANCIENTS CAST LOTS
By eight o'clock the following morning we had stored, in ice-packed
vacuum flasks, twenty-two pairs of strong, active glands (eighteen
culled from gentlemen and four from ladies). In return for their
mainsprings of youth, so to speak, the gorillas had unfortunately to
content themselves with goat glands, a much inferior article, but as
Gran'pa so aptly said: "Half a life is better than none."
Leaving the poor brutes on board until we returned, by which time
they would be convalescent, we set out, in a cool steady breeze, for
Windhuk, a little over one hundred miles away and lying 5,000 feet
above sea level.
Our 'planes flew evenly and swiftly over the narrow coastal sand belt,
and then the great sand dunes, and finally the hilly country that
gradually ascends towards the immense plateau of the interior.
Physically, the journey was uneventful and tame after our many jungle
flights; but psychologically, it was one of the most romantic that
could be imagined.
We were carrying Youth and Life, Happiness and Power--the veritable
concentrated essence of being--monkey glands. Gods we were, moving
through the high heavens for the benefit of the little humans who
toiled and grew weary and old on the green lands beneath. Gods we were,
soaring above the tempest and lightning of the mountain sides.
Even Bellerophon, aflight on his winged Pegasus, was no more godlike
than we. For were we not going forth to fight the terrible chimæra
of Old Age--a much more formidable and elusive monster than the
mythological creature which threatened Lycia.
Our foe dwelt not in one country, but in all the lands of the earth. It
arose with the first dim speck of life, striving slowly and ruthlessly
against Youth and the beauty of Youth. It stole the roses from the
maiden's cheek, the lustre from her eye, the fleetness from her limbs,
the gold from her hair, the grace from her movements, and the swiftness
of thought from her brain.
It blunted the keen edge of appetite, robbed the flesh of its earthly
pleasures, weakened the powers of resistance against disease, and
painted the world a dull monotone of gray. Its victims clogged the
wheels of industry and progress, hampered politics, handicapped art,
fostered wars which were fought by others, and scoffed at romance. The
Dragon, the Hydra and the Chimæra were merely harmless and playful
little creatures compared with this insidious Monster of Old Age.
Little wonder that our hearts were light and gay as we thought of the
subtle weapons of attack which we carried in those innocent-looking
thermos flasks.
For over an hour we went hustling and humming through the blue heavens
in pursuit of our prey; then we saw Windhuk, the City of the Aged,
lying beneath us like a cluster of toy huts on a green and brown carpet.
The engines suddenly ceased their roar, the wind whistled through the
struts, the tree-clad earth tilted and spun round in an ascending
spiral, antlike inhabitants hurried hither and thither in curiosity and
alarm, and down we dropped in an ecstasy of aerial exuberance.
Gran'pa was the first to alight. With a youthful spring, he leapt to
the ground and ran over to the other 'plane to help out Molly. It was a
lesson in politeness--an art which few people are able to practice in
moments of intense excitement.
I watched the scene with humility and shame, admitting to myself that I
had been far too engrossed in my own speculations to think of others,
and was about to compliment Gran'pa on his courtesy when my attention
was suddenly diverted elsewhere.
A loud cry on our right had heralded the sudden appearance of between
fifty and sixty strange looking men, clad in vests and "shorts." With
their fists clenched on each side of their chests, they came quietly
trotting round a cluster of trees at the one end of the open space to
which we had just descended.
"What on earth is it?" Newland asked. "The finish of a cross-country
race, or a deputation from the local mayor?"
"Heaven knows!" I answered. "They must be having some sort of sports
here."
I was about to hazard another explanation for this astounding
apparition when the truth burst upon me. I recognized first one and
then another face in the crowd. That tall, thin man was Major Atkinson,
and that stumpy little fellow was P. J. Cholmondeley, the world's
oldest railway director.
"Why, they're the boys!" I exclaimed, hysterically.
"What boys?" queried Newland.
"The Club! . . . The Rejuvenation Club, man! . . ." I cried, gazing
anxiously at Gran'pa, round whom they were clustering, like a pack of
hungry hounds.
"_Three cheers!_" shouted a thin, reedy voice out of the half-clad mass
of surging humanity.
"_Hip-hip-hurrah!_" came the unanimous reply.
"_Hurrah! . . . Hurrah! . . ._"
Their excitement was piteous to behold. Some of the older and weaker
of them were blubbering with joy. They jostled and pushed one another,
laughed, shouted, jumped up on tiptoe, waved their arms, and coughed
and spluttered with overexertion--behaving for all the world as if they
had just been rescued from some such calamity as a shipwreck, or a six
months' siege. In their wholesale endeavor to reach Gran'pa and shake
his hand, they gravely endangered not only his toes but even his life.
"Gentlemen!" I heard him shout. "_Gentlemen!_ . . . Confound you! . . ."
In the momentary lull which followed, he managed to back his way to
the aeroplane and climb into a seat. Standing there, he appealed for a
hearing.
"Let him speak!" piped the same thin voice which had called for those
lusty cheers.
The uproar died down into a murmur, and the murmur into a silence,
broken here and there by the stray clearing of some aged throat, or the
sharp, short cough of overexcitement.
"I appreciate your welcome!" said Gran'pa in restrained and even tones.
"Look where you're going, sir; you'll smash the machine!" The crowd
swayed and shouted. Then silence again. Gran'pa continued:
"I appreciate your welcome," he repeated, "and I understand your joy.
Let me therefore proclaim at once that we have accomplished . . . much
of what we promised. The glands . . ."
But he could proceed no further. The noise of the old people, eager
and almost crazy for Youth, rose into another volley of hoarse cheers
and cackling coughs and laughter. They had waited over ten months for
this moment, and once they had heard the glad tidings further speech
was regarded as useless. To them, the word "glands" was sufficient.
They had yet to learn that there were not nearly enough to go round.
Ignorance was indeed bliss!
"Gentlemen!" shouted Gran'pa at the top of his voice. "Do behave
yourselves! Remember that we are all tired out. We've been up half the
night on your behalf. We want rest--even if it is only a few minutes'
rest. If you will only have the goodness to disperse I will come to the
sanatorium presently and tell you everything. I have news for you--good
news--but not exactly what you expected. . . . Confound you, sir! Will
you look where you are going!"
They saw that he was angry and, like the children that they were at
heart, they obeyed his entreaty. With low murmurs and shakings of
heads, they slowly withdrew from Gran'pa's hastily-chosen forum.
"That's better!" he cried. "Now, if you will only go home I'll promise
to be round there in half-an-hour at the most."
So they retired once more, in gesticulating twos and threes--dampened
and crestfallen, but still hopeful.
"Extraordinary!" I heard Gran'pa exclaim to Dr. Croft. "They look
twenty years younger already. It's really astonishing what exercise,
fresh air and diet alone will do on the road to rejuvenation. We
couldn't have better material for our first experiment."
"There seemed to be about fifty," said Dr. Croft. "I wonder where the
others are. . . . Ah! here comes Dr. Martin! Now we shall know."
We welcomed the newcomer, who was head of the hospital staff in
Windhuk, and presently discovered that the contingent of ancients which
we had just encountered represented the pick of the Club. The partly
rejuvenated graybeards had been doing their daily "jerks" in the
gymnasium when our 'planes were sighted, and they had sallied forth
immediately. The remainder of the members were under treatment for such
minor complaints as sore throats, sprains, broken bones, sciatica, and
so on. The physician in charge also regretted to state that four of the
members had expired since arriving in Windhuk. One had died from heart
failure, another from pneumonia, another from apoplexy as a result of
overexertion, and another had simply lost heart and pined away.
Gran'pa was clearly upset.
"What a pity!" he murmured, as we set out for the sanatorium. "What a
pity! I had hoped to pull this thing through without any loss of life.
How many do you consider able to undergo the operation to-day, Dr.
Martin?"
"All except six or seven. That is, about eighty."
"More than enough!" grunted Gran'pa. "Take us over to the sanatorium,
give us something to eat and drink, and then we'll explain matters. By
that time my fiancée should have arrived by train from Swakopmund."
Dr. Martin said that he was glad to hear it, and also indicated that
our sudden arrival was very welcome--though a little unexpected.
"What do you think of the old chaps?" he asked.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "In fact, the glands seem
superfluous. . . ."
"Not quite," chuckled the doctor. "But very nearly. . . ."
"What have you been up to, eh?"
"Well, first of all, we've given the old people plenty of physical
jerks, embracing movements in every joint--fingers, elbow, neck--waist,
knees, toes, ankles, spine--and so on. . . . They've gone in for
dancing, too. Jigs, reels, clog-dancing, hornpipes . . ."
"It all sounds very hot and perspiring!" observed Gran'pa.
"Did you think so when you saw them just now?"
"No! I can't say that I did. On the contrary, they looked astonishingly
cool and fresh!"
Dr. Martin beamed with pride.
"They'd come straight from an hour's drill in the gymnasium," he
remarked succinctly.
"You amaze me!" conceded Gran'pa. "Well, what else have you done?
'Jerks' alone wouldn't have produced such a--miracle."
"I suppose that you've heard of the latest theory, glandular
stimulants?" asked Dr. Martin.
"Vaguely! Isn't it potashes, or something?"
"Yes, a colloidal, radioactive potash. It works with extraordinary
rapidity and, what is most important, it seems to stimulate all the
glands in equal proportion. I believe that coördination of effects is
a vital necessity to any process of rejuvenation. That's why I am not
particularly in favor of grafting only one type of gland, such as the
thyroid. The result may not be lasting. You may easily develop one part
of the organism at the expense of the rest."
This was touching Gran'pa on his tenderest spot, so to speak--his own
glands (or rather Alfred's). I could see that he was annoyed.
"Such has not been the case with me," he said, airily.
"Not so far, perhaps," answered Dr. Martin.
"You mean to suggest that it may. I disagree with you entirely, sir! I
feel that you are wrong. I _know_ it!"
"Please don't look on this as a personal matter, Mr. Hadley. It is
merely a general observation. We know very little of the precise
function of any gland at present, but we do know that the stimulation
of one kind often leads to degeneration of another."
"Have you told all this to the old people?" inquired Gran'pa, after a
pause.
"Naturally not!"
"That's a pity!"
"Why?" asked Dr. Martin.
"Because most of them will badly need some such comforting theory. I'm
sorry to inform you, doctor, that we've not done nearly as well as we
expected. Instead of the eighty-seven pairs of glands promised, we've
managed to get only twenty-two."
Dr. Martin's expression was one of surprise and pain. In spite of his
profession, he seemed to be deeply moved.
"This is very bad news!" he said. "They will be terribly upset."
"I am certain they will," agreed Gran'pa, almost cheerfully. "But
they must make the best of it. Some of us will have to die of old
age--sometime. It's not a new grievance. Men and women have been
putting up with it for millions of years. Why, then, should these
people complain?"
Dr. Martin shrugged his shoulders.
"You must remember that they have been here a long time and worked very
hard at their exercises, solely in preparation for the new glands.
Their enthusiasm has astounded all of us. When they find that only
about a quarter of them are going to be rejuvenated, there will be
trouble."
An idea struck me at this point.
"How would it be to distribute single glands, instead of pairs?" I
suggested.
"No!" said Gran'pa, firmly. "I hate makeshifts. We must have one thing
or the other--either youth or old age. We can't have men who don't know
_what_ they are. It would be as absurd as fitting a three-horse-power
engine to a four-seater car. . . ."
"I agree," murmured Dr. Martin, despondently. "The only thing is to
explain matters--"
"And let them draw lots," added Gran'pa.
Dr. Croft joined in.
"There is no reason," he said, "why we should not tell them that this
is merely the first consignment of glands--the remainder to follow
later."
"No!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "Why should we lie to them? Within the next
twenty-four hours this business is finished as far as I'm concerned.
If the unrejuvenated like to go gland-hunting on their own, they're
welcome to any information we can give them. That is an idea quite
worth mentioning."
We had now reached the sanatorium, and adjourned the discussion until
we had refreshed ourselves with food and drink. During the meal Sally
Rebecca and Stringer arrived, looking rather hot and tired after their
twenty-four-hour train journey. Their appetites, however, appeared to
be much keener than usual, so they joined us immediately.
Feeling much brighter after our meal, we left Molly and Sally in charge
of the matron and proceeded to the gymnasium, where Gran'pa was to
deliver his eagerly-awaited speech.
Gran'pa, looking very spruce and cheerful, headed the procession, and
as we filed in through the narrow doorway a low murmur of hope and joy
rose from the assembled multitude. The noise increased in volume until
at last it broke into wave upon wave of cheers.
Under happier circumstances, it would have been a scene to make one's
heart glow with pride. Seventy-nine of the Club's members were there in
all stages of dress and undress--a fine, well-nourished, brown-skinned,
clean-shaven, athletic-looking gathering of hale old men, with a
total of well over 5,000 years to their credit! The contrast, when
one compared this with the inaugural meeting at Battersea, was indeed
startling. Gone was the bushy assortment of whiskers, the array of bent
backs, the staccato accompaniment of coughings, the throaty undertone
one usually associates with excited old men. Sun, fresh air, colloidal
potashes, and plenty of physical jerks had already produced marvellous
results. Would that we could have gone still further, and wrought a
miracle by providing a sufficiency of the little glandular engines of
complete youth. . . .
One by one, we mounted the platform which had been erected for the
occasion, bowed and then sat down.
So we faced one another, the Saviours, the Saved--and the Lost. . . .
Gran'pa took from one of his pockets a handful of little red beans
and, from another, a much smaller supply of white ones. He placed them
in two separate heaps on the table in front of him and, from the way
some of the old people behaved, I believe that they were under the
impression that these objects were the actual glands! In any case, the
uproar became more deafening than ever!
Standing up, and raising a hand for silence, Gran'pa began speaking in
his clear, steady voice.
"Gentlemen," he said, with dramatic simplicity, "the hour is at hand."
I saw one old man in the audience blow his nose and wipe away some
tears which had gathered in his eyes. Another was trembling from head
to foot with excitement. Still another seemed to be on the verge of
fainting. The silence was intense. I heard a bean roll off the table
and fall to the floor with a click. It was as if the proverbial pin had
dropped.
Rapidly and cleverly and logically, Gran'pa got into his stride.
Opening with a short history of our campaign in the Gorilla Country,
he referred to the tremendous difficulties we had to overcome, the
hardships we had to endure, and the diseases we had to face. With a
motion in my direction, he stated that malaria had nearly carried me
off (which was the first I had known of it!) and that the daily dangers
of the jungle had brought every one of us within an ace of death, not
once but scores of times.
He described the gorilla in lurid and blood-curdling details, drawing
a little on his imagination here and there. He spoke of the enormous
strength of the fully grown male; of its cunning, its cruelty and its
vindictiveness. Allusion was also made to the baby gorilla which had so
playfully torn Gran'pa's trousers, and to the grandmother gorilla which
had come to its assistance in the forest.
The narration of these incidents greatly amused the audience, but in
the midst of their chuckles Gran'pa suddenly pulled them up by pointing
out that, at the time, it was no laughing matter. Leaning forward, with
clenched fists resting on the table, he said, in a low voice:--
"Dressing up as a lady gorilla and luring amorous or curious males to
their doom may sound very humorous in this room to-day; but out there,
in a country where all animal life is engaged in a grim and earnest
struggle for existence, Death--horrible and sudden--awaits the man who
makes the least mistake."
Having been thus restored to a sense of reality, the old men were
gradually given to understand that in the present backward state of
science it was practically impossible to capture eighty odd live
gorillas.
As Gran'pa approached nearer to the crux of the situation I could see
that he was analyzing the psychology of his audience with all the
cunning of a politician. He tactfully prepared the ground by stating
that it would be a marvellous feat to obtain even half-a-dozen gorillas
in the short time we had had at our disposal.
In this way he skilfully led the old people into the dark shadows of
despair. Then he suddenly flung at them the magnificent announcement
that we had caught not six, but twenty-two gorillas!
"Twenty-two!" he repeated, in a voice which simulated deep emotion. "It
is an achievement of which I am justifiably proud!"
Even to me, it appeared a much larger number than it actually was. The
effect on the audience was electrical. For more than a minute they
cheered quite as vociferously as if we had already accomplished the
miracle of rejuvenation in every one of them.
Gran'pa, too surprised at his success to continue his speech, sat down
for a while. He glanced sideways at me, as much as to say: "Well! What
do you think of that, George?" Stringer, with the maximum expression of
Old-Billishness on his face, beamed paternally on everyone: Dr. Croft
looked bright and cheerful; and Dr. Martin appeared to be slightly
relieved--but by no means hopeful.
He must have understood the old people better than any of us, for
presently the uproar died down into an ominous and expectant silence.
Once again, Gran'pa was on his feet, talking quickly and persuasively.
He pointed out that even this magnificent total of twenty-two pairs
of glands was unfortunately not enough for our purpose. The fact
had worried him more than he could say. It had been the subject of
numerous discussions. Amongst the many suggestions made, was the rather
obvious one of supplementing the supply with glands obtained from the
smaller monkeys. But he considered that this would have been a very
unsatisfactory solution of the difficulty, and, in any case, it would
be comparatively simple to obtain these at any time. Little monkeys
were plentiful, widely distributed, and easy to catch. Incidentally,
they were far more suitable for organ grinders than rejuvenation.
At this point Gran'pa picked up a handful of the red beans reposing on
his right, ran them through his fingers, and said quietly:--
"The only fair way out of the difficulty, gentlemen, is for you to draw
lots."
I saw one of the old men lose his bright red color and turn a muddy
white. Possibly, he was always unlucky in functions of this nature.
Another rubbed his hands together and chuckled gleefully--evidently
convinced that good luck was one of his assets.
The general effect, however, was one of intense disappointment,
followed by bitter resentment. They began to realize the unkindness of
Fate in permitting the failure of an expedition which had started so
promisingly. Also, they wanted a scapegoat--and Gran'pa was obviously
the only one available.
Some hard words were flung at Gran'pa. He was accused of negligence,
of bad stewardship, and even of breach of contract--especially by those
who had contributed to the expenses of the club.
It was really a most disgraceful exhibition of narrow-mindedness and
gross unfairness. To hear these people, one would have thought that
Gran'pa had acted selfishly from beginning to end, that he had never
considered their interests, and that none of us had even endangered
our lives. No labor leader, about to be deposed by a yelling horde of
fellow-workers, was treated more scurvily than Gran'pa. It made my
blood boil; and Stringer's moustache and eyebrows were bristling with
suppressed indignation.
I was almost hoping that there would be a free fight. And I am sure
that there was not a finger on our platform that wasn't itching to do
mischief to some of those venerable necks and heads.
Serene and dignified, Gran'pa raised a hand for quiet. But the uproar
increased. Was there ever a worse example of obstinate, greedy old age?
"Confound them!" I heard Gran'pa say.
Then he stood on the table and shouted at them as if they were dogs.
"_Be quiet!_" he yelled.
A sudden silence followed his words and, roused to fury at last,
Gran'pa shouted out:--
"If there's another murmur I'll scrap the damned lot of those glands!
What the devil do you mean by all this commotion? A nice lot of
miserable cowards you are . . ."
He turned to his supporters on the platform and made a gesture in the
direction of the audience.
"These are the men," he sneered, "who fattened on the late war--men
who boasted of what they would have done had they been thirty years
younger! Look at their courage now! My God! . . ."
He said very little more in this strain, but what he did say was to
the point. It shamed those seventy-nine resentful and spiteful old men
into the most abject silence I have ever seen. They cringed and wilted
before the tornado of his passion, until at last one of them stood up
and apologized for himself and the rest of the company.
"That's quite all right! . . ." murmured Gran'pa, diffidently. "I think
we all lost our heads for a moment. Please forgive me if I broke the
bad news too suddenly."
How could they help cheering him after that?
More noise! Then quietness, as Gran'pa counted out the beans.
"With your permission, gentlemen," he said tactfully, "I am retaining
the first white one for my fiancée."
(A voice: "Yes! Yes!"--followed by unanimous approval!)
"That," he continued, "leaves twenty-one. . . . Now for the red ones."
After a momentary and dramatic silence, Gran'pa said:--
"Fifty-eight! Would you mind checking the numbers, George? . . . Oh! We
want a hat! . . ."
A battered old thing was handed up by an octogenarian company promoter,
and the proceedings began.
I would a thousand times rather have died from old age than face that
terrible ordeal. It was gruesome, piteous, cruel. It seemed as if we
were executioners taking part in some frightful Bolshevik rite. And yet
it had to be. . . .
One by one, they filed past the Altar of Youth and Death, plunging
shaking hands into that innocent-looking symbol of the future, fumbling
therein for awhile, and then bringing forth--everything or nothing. A
groan, a sigh, a sharp exclamation of despair, or satisfaction, or joy
escaped each one of them as they went slowly by.
Some of those who drew the white beans of youth tried to conceal their
good luck, as if afraid that their unfortunate brothers might think
they were gloating. It was that spirit of consideration more than
anything, which moved me almost to tears.
On the other hand, there was one man who branded himself for all time.
I should imagine that he was a retired card-sharper.
His crime consisted of taking out three beans, quickly separating the
white one from two reds, and dropping the latter back in the hat.
"Put the other back!" rapped out Gran'pa. "You're disqualified, sir."
"It was an accident!" protested the old man. "They stuck to my fingers,
and . . ."
"Put it back!" roared Gran'pa. "I'm here to see fair play and I'll get
it! . . . Oh, no, you don't. You've had your draw. We can't allow two
goes. . . . Move along, please!"
Flushed with shame, and still mumbling and protesting, he stepped back
from the queue and the proceedings were resumed.
When they were finished, Gran'pa looked into the hat, uttered an
exclamation of astonishment, and said:--
"Owing to the little lapse from propriety which you witnessed a moment
ago, there is a bean left over, gentlemen. Those of you who have drawn
the red will be agreeably surprised to hear that the remaining one is
white! I therefore suggest that the losers all place their red beans in
the hat and try their luck again."
Everyone cheered (with the exception of the unfortunate individual who
was the cause of this fresh lease of hope) and the supplementary draw
opened amidst great enthusiasm and excitement.
When it was presently discovered that the first fifty-six (out of the
fifty-eight losers) had all drawn reds, the tension became so great
that the remaining two old men were compelled to sit down for a few
moments. They were so exhausted with emotion that Dr. Martin was afraid
they might collapse.
"Come along!" he said. "You _must_ get this over at once!"
"Toss for it!" cried Gran'pa. "That is the fairest!"
So they tossed--and the man who called "Tails!" won.
"I . . . I always . . . say 'Heads!'" he half sobbed. "But this time
. . ."
Then he fainted!
A bottle of smelling salts, however, and about a quarter of a bottle
of brandy worked wonders, and the moment he regained consciousness
the loser shook his hand and even congratulated him. More astonishing
still, all the happy possessors of the white beans were the centre of
an admiring and cheerful crowd of well-wishers, none of whom showed the
least signs of jealousy or resentment.
"Bravo!" cried Gran'pa. "You're real sportsmen, gentlemen--every one of
you! I withdraw the rash statement I made a few minutes ago, and ask
your pardon."
He got it--in the form of more cheers.
We were beginning to congratulate ourselves on this happy and
unexpected termination, when a little bald-headed man of eighty or
ninety summers emitted a high-pitched wail of dismay.
"My bean!" he cried. "Somebody's stolen it! . . . Stop thief! . . .
_Ah-h!_"
He uttered the last syllable triumphantly, having grabbed the supposed
miscreant by the coat collar.
There was a short scuffle, in which some half-dozen other old men
took part and a yell of pain from the victim as someone bent back his
clenched fist. Instead of a white bean, however, a red one fell from
his open palm--a complete vindication of his innocence, which drove the
loser of the bean to frenzy.
"I've been robbed!" he shouted hysterically. "It is shameful! Where is
the blackguard?"
Naturally enough, no one answered his query. To add to the difficulty,
nobody was certain exactly who were the winners and who were the losers
before the theft had occurred.
"This is disgraceful!" said Gran'pa. "We must register the names of the
winners at once, or there'll be still more pilfering."
"What about me?" yelled the victim of this daylight robbery. "The man
who stole my bean will come forward as if he drew it."
"I don't see how we can possibly prevent it," observed Gran'pa.
"I insist on my name being included. Failing that, there must be
another draw."
"_No!_" protested the whites.
"Yes! . . . Another draw!" clamored the reds, completely losing their
previous sense of chivalry.
"Absurd!" retaliated Gran'pa. "We can't have all this business over
again through the gross carelessness of one man. Will the holders of
the white beans kindly give their names at once?"
They did--all together!
"One at a time, please!" ordered Gran'pa, taking out paper and pencil.
"And we want to see your beans, as well!"
So, at last, after an arduous and exciting afternoon, we drew up a list
of those who were entitled to the full fruits of rejuvenation.
The task was accomplished under great difficulties, owing to the noisy
behavior of the individual who had lost his bean. But Gran'pa was
adamant. He refused to give way either to his pleadings or his threats.
"For which of these names do you suggest I should substitute yours?" he
asked quietly.
It was a poser worthy of Solomon. It was unanswerable.
"Now," said Gran'pa, "I should be glad if the twenty-one winners would
accompany Dr. Martin to his consulting room. It is essential that the
operation should take place either this evening or to-morrow. The
doctor will decide which of you are composed enough to undergo the
treatment now. I need hardly say that the operation is a fairly simple
one, but as it will involve the administration of an anæsthetic it is
best to take elementary precautions. I wish you the best of luck, a
speedy recovery--and complete youth, gentlemen."
They greeted his good wishes in the usual way, and then the gymnasium
slowly began to empty itself.
One would have thought that no further problems could possibly be
presented to Gran'pa for solution. But difficulties dogged our
footsteps to the end.
The last man was on the point of leaving the room when he suddenly
drew back, closed the door on the retiring crowd and strode over to the
platform.
"A few minutes ago," he explained briefly, "Colonel Wilkins offered me
five thousand dollars for my interest in the glands. I've decided to
close with him."
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "We cannot permit
the question of money to enter into a matter of this kind. You were all
chosen irrespective of position, wealth or influence, and it would be
establishing a vicious and dangerous precedent to allow any buying and
selling of the glands. We should have the whole thing degenerate into a
sort of auction sale in no time. . . . Don't you agree with me, George?"
"Most emphatically," I said. "It would be introducing terrible
temptations to the poorer members of the club."
"Quite so! Youth--and life--are much too precious to be bartered for
mere money. Suppose _we_ had started selling the glands. . . . Go to
Dr. Martin at once, sir, and thank your lucky stars you have men of
principle as your advisers and leaders."
When he had gone Gran'pa turned to me with a great sigh.
"George," he said, "for peace and quietness, give me the haunts of the
wild gorilla every time. Another day or two of this would kill me. I
must go and see Sally. I want comforting. . . ."