The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gland Stealers, by Bertram Gayton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Gland Stealers Author: Bertram Gayton Release Date: May 16, 2015 [EBook #48975] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLAND STEALERS *** Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) The Gland Stealers by Bertram Gayton 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 publisher logo 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 [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] 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. [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] "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!" [Pg 16] [Pg 17] [Pg 18] "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 [Pg 19] [Pg 20] 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 [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] 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. [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] 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." [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] "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." [Pg 30] [Pg 31]