but I came here for seclusion and I'll not have anyone bothering me in my work."
"I'll not bother you, young man. But I'm fond of pets and I see you nave many of them here; guinea pigs, chickins, pigeons, and rabbits. Would you mind if I make friends with some of them?"
"They're not pets," answered Tom dryly, "they are material for use in my experiments. But you may amuse yourself with them if you wish."
"You mean that you cut them up—kill them, perhaps?"
"Not that. But I sometimes change them in physical form, sometimes cause them to become of huge size, sometimes produce pigmy offspring of normal animals."
"Don't they suffer?"
"Very seldom, though occasionally a subject dies. But the benefit that will accrue to mankind is well worth the slight inconvenience to the dumb creatures, and the infrequent loss of their lives."
OLD CROMPTON regarded him dubiously. "You are trying to find?" he interrogated.
"The secret of life!" Tom Forsythe's eyes took on the stare of fanaticism! "Before I have finished I shall know the nature of the vital force—how to produce it. I shall prolong human life indefinitely; create artificial life. And the solution is more closely approached with each passing day."
The hermit blinked in pretended mystification. But he understood perfectly, and he bitterly envied the younger man's knowledge and ability that enabled him to delve into the mysteries of nature which had always been so attractive to his own mind. And somehow, he acquired a sudden deep hatred of the coolly confident young man who spoke so positively of accomplishing the impossible.
During the winter months that followed, the strange acquaintance progressed but little. Tom did not invite his neighbor to visit him, nor did Old Crompton go out of his way to impose his presence on the younger man, though each spoke pleasantly enough to the other on the few occasions when they happened to meet.
With the coming of spring they encountered one another more frequently, and Tom found considerable of interest in the quaint, borrowed philosophy of the gloomy old man. Old Crompton, of course, was desperately interested in the things that were hidden in Tom's laboratory, but he never requested permission to see them. He hid his real feelings extremely well and was apparently content to spend as much time as possible with the feathered and furred subjects for experiment, being very careful not to incur Tom's displeasure by displaying too great interest in the laboratory itself.
THEN there came a day in early summer when an accident served to draw the two men closer together, and Old Crompton's long-sought opportunity followed.
He was starting for the village when, from down the road, there came a series of tremendous squawkings, then a bellow of dismay in the voice of his young neighbor. He turned quickly and was astonished at sight of a monstrous rooster which had escaped and was headed straight for him with head down and wings fluttering wildly. Tom followed dose, behind, but was unable to catch the darting monster. And monster it was, for this rooster stood no less than three, feet in height and appeared more ferocious than a large turkey. Old Crompton had his shopping bag, a large one of burlap which he always carried to town, and he summoned enough courage to throw it over the head of the screeching, oversized fowl. So tangled did the panic stricken bird become that it was a comparatively simple matter to effect his capture, and the old man rose to his feet triumphant with the bag securely closed over the struggling captive.
