"Thanks," panted Tom, when he drew alongside. "I should never have caught him, and his appearance at large, might have caused me a great, deal of trouble—now of all times."
"It's all right, Forsythe," smirked the old man. "Glad I was able to do it." Secretly he gloated, for he knew this occurrence would be an open sesame to that laboratory of Tom's. And it proved to be just that.
A FEW nights later he was awakened by a vigorous thumping at his door, something that had never before occurred during his nearly sixty years occupancy of the tumbledown hut. The moon was high and he cautiously peeped from the window and saw that his late visitor was none other than young Forsythe.
"With you in a minute!" he shouted, hastily thrusting his rheumatic old limbs into his shabby trousers. "Now to see the inside of that laboratory," he chuckled to himself.
It required but a moment to attire himself in the scanty raiment he wore during the warm months, but he could hear Tom muttering and impatiently pacing the flagstones before his door.
"What is it?" he asked, as he drew the bolt and emerged into the brilliant light of the moon.
"Success!" breathed Tom excitedly. "I have produced growing, living matter synthetically. More than this, I have learned the secret of the vital force—the spark of life. Immortality is within easy reach. Come and see for yourself."
They quickly traveled the short distance to the two-story building which comprised Tom's working and living quarters. The entire ground floor was taken up by the laboratory, and Old Crompton stared aghast at the wealth of equipment it contained. Furnaces there were, and retorts that reminded him of those pictured in the wood cuts in some of his musty books. Then there were complicated machines with many levers and dials-mounted on their faces, and with huge glass bulbs of peculiar shape with coils of wire connecting to knoblike protuberances of their transparent walls. In the exact center of the great single room there was what appeared to be a dissecting table, with a brilliant light overhead and with two of the odd glass bulbs at either end. It was to this table that Tom led the excited old man.
"This is my perfected apparatus," said Tom proudly, "and by its use I intend to create a new race of supermen, men and women who will always retain the vigor and strength of their youth and who can not die excepting by actual destruction of their bodies. Under the influence of the rays all bodily ailments vanish as if by magic, and organic defects are quickly corrected. Watch this now."
HE stepped to one of the many cages at the side of the room and returned with a wriggling cottontail in his hands. Old Crompton watched anxiously as he picked a nickeled instrument from a tray of surgical appliances and requested his visitor; to hold the protesting animal while he covered its head with a handkerchief.
"Ethyl chloride;" explained Tom, noting with amusement the look of distaste on the old man's face. "Well just put him to sleep for a minute while I amputate a leg."
The struggles of the rabbit quickly ceased when the spray soaked the handkerchief and the anaesthetic took, effect. With a shining scalpel and a surgical saw Tom speedily removed one of the forelegs of the animal and then he placed the limp body in the center of the table, removing the handkerchief from its head as he did so. At the end of the table there was a panel with its glittering array of switches and electrical instruments, and Old Crompton observed very closely the manipulations of the controls as Tom started the mechanism. With the ensuing hum of a motor-generator from a corner of the room, the four bulbs ad-
