In spite of Gran'pa's optimism and my reputed good luck, we captured only eight more gorillas in the next two months. Little Willie also escaped by intelligently pulling up his peg and making a sudden dash for the jungle—an act of gross ingratitude after all we had done for him.

To add to our gloomy forebodings of the future, we lost one of the finest males through illness. I am convinced that its trouble was mental. For nearly a week it refused to eat, but merely sat brooding over what may well have been its lost kingship of the jungle—a truly touching picture of a banished anthropoid Bonaparte.

This suicide by hunger-striking was only one instance of the many psychological complexities with which we had to contend. The male gorilla is a bundle of crude and intense emotions—such as rage, hatred, egotism, churlishness and depression. Its mind has no half tones. The emotions which prompt a smile, a handshake, or a tender embrace would be unthinkable. And yet the brute can hunger strike!

"What I'm afraid of," said Gran'pa, "is that—monkey-like—the others will start imitating, and that they'll all become passive resisters."

It was a terrible thought, and knowing what a powerful weapon the hunger-strike had been in the happy, pre-war days of the suffragette, we were naturally alarmed.

"I'm strongly of the opinion," continued Gran'pa, "that it's time we packed up what we have got—and went. We shall never capture eighty-seven of the brutes."

I pointed out to him that, although no actual census had been taken of the anthropoid apes, a learned professor had once estimated their numbers as 200,000 chimpanzees, 200,000 gibbons, 50,000 orangs and 30,000 gorillas—the whole population being confined to the jungle lands of the equatorial zone, which was less than a fifteenth part of the earth's surface.

"You must admit," I added, "that twenty-two gorillas out of thirty thousand is rather a poor show."

"Thirty thousand!" he exclaimed, "I should put it at about thirty dozen, from what we've seen—or haven't seen—of them!"

"Anyway, eighty-seven into twenty-two won't go."

"If you knock off sixty-five, it will!" he retaliated.

"It's hard lines on the old chaps you're going to 'knock off.'"

"That's their business. We've done our best. If we caught the whole lot of the anthropoids in existence—and such a thing may happen any day if gland-grafting becomes popular—we should still find we hadn't enough to satisfy everyone. There wouldn't even be sufficient glands for the septuagenarians in England alone. I believe that there are about one thousand five hundred million human beings on the earth, George—an absolute glut of people—and possibly thirty millions of them are ripe for monkey glands. The demand for the latter, at any rate, will always be fifty times greater than the supply. In our case it will be only four times greater. That's logic, isn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Cold, hard logic for men who have travelled seven thousand miles for—nothing."

"Nonsense! The voyage will have done them good. So will the 'physical jerks' they're going through at present. I don't see what they'll have to complain about."

"You will when you try to explain matters."

Gran'pa was determined, however.

"You leave it to me!" he boasted.

"I've no intention of doing otherwise."

He contemplated me for awhile.

"So you think we ought to go on—and on—and on?" he said, at last.

"I certainly think that we should do what we can until the dry season is over."

Gran'pa thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and strode up and down the veranda of our bungalow. He was a man who always hated the idea of giving up a task to which he had once put his hand, and I knew that there was some unconfessed reason behind this sudden desire to leave Corisco.

I asked him what it was.

"It's simply the realization of defeat," he replied evasively.

"I don't believe it, Gran'pa. You're the last man on earth to realize such a thing—still less to admit it."

He said that he was pleased to hear me say so.

"Why not be frank?" I persisted.

"Well—it's like this, George.... I'm worried over Sally. She is going back...."

"What!" I exclaimed. "Returning to England?"

"No! No! I mean ... receding. All the good she's got out of the life over here is rapidly being undone. After all, she's an old woman, George—and I have the feeling that—we must be quick. At her age, strange things happen. Something slips—and suddenly the wheels slow down. You must have noticed the difference in her during the last two or three weeks."

I had to admit that she certainly seemed very depressed and listless of late. At the same time, I thought that it was nothing to be alarmed about.

"I'm not alarmed!" said Gran'pa. "I'm merely taking precautions. It may be selfish of me to consider her before the rest of these old people—but it is natural, George!"

"Quite so! Then why not take her to Windhuk and let us follow later with as many gorillas as we can get by then?"

"It is not practicable."

"You and Sally could 'plane it, accompanied by the necessary lady gorilla."

"No! It is too late in the day to start doing things by instalments, like that. We must all go together. If you've any respect for my feelings, George, give in like a good fellow."

"Very well!" I sighed. "It's your expedition—not mine. And perhaps you're right...."

"You might admit it less grudgingly.... I don't want to seem a killjoy...."

"Killjoy!" I exclaimed. "You don't think that I'm fooling with these gorillas for the joy of the thing. The novelty wore off months ago. It's simply a matter of patience, followed by hard work if you're lucky, and a fit of depression if you aren't. What glamour is there in sitting in a cage, muffled up in a monkey skin, with your hand on the gas tap—waiting for some fool gorilla to stray by? It's as bad as being a spider. If only we could go in for a little genuine hunting ... a few hippo, or elephants.... But no! We should scare away these precious apes. Pampered brutes!"

"You're very bitter, George!"

"Naturally I am when you suggest that I want to finish this job because I like it."

"Come now! Even you have your moments of gayety. There's always some new thrill in the jungle. That snake, for instance.... One isn't always sitting and waiting.... Still, the point is that you agree with me in the main. Capturing gorillas is a long and tedious business. We shall never get enough. Therefore, let us take what we have before any more of them die."

So at last, after many hardships and adventures, we came to the beginning of the end.

That same evening we called a board meeting, with Gran'pa, as managing director, in the chair. Dr. Croft was in favor of "closing down" immediately; so was Stringer. The only one who opposed Gran'pa (beside myself) was Obongi, our native interpreter. His reason was simple. He didn't want us to go because everyone on Corisco would miss us!

It is only fair to admit that Gran'pa had a very strong case. He pointed out that we should never overcome the initial difficulty caused by the unsociableness of the male gorilla, who sought food and shelter only in the company of a few wives and children. Unhandicapped, too, by any housing problems, the brute moved from spot to spot at will, and seemed seldom to visit the same place twice in succession. It also preferred the gloomiest, unhealthiest and most inaccessible parts of the jungle. Taking all these facts into consideration, had we not been extraordinarily lucky? What other body of men could have captured over twenty full grown gorillas in such a short time?"Supposing," said Gran'pa, "that the news was flashed through to civilization at this moment. How many people do you think would believe it? I'm convinced that we've accomplished little short of a miracle. Let us be grateful, then, and not ruin everything by a spirit of overreaching greed."

I asked precisely what he intended doing.

"I shall explain matters fully," he replied, easily. "Then I shall suggest the drawing of lots. There will be white beans for the gorillas, and red beans for ... those who are compelled to end their lives naturally."

As if this were the solution of the simplest problem imaginable, Gran'pa rose to his feet and announced:

"We'll weigh anchor to-morrow, gentlemen! Meanwhile, I'll go and see Captain Morgan."

Thus did our sojourn in Corisco draw to its inevitable close, and when the dawn came we crept aboard "The Pilgrim Father" with sorrow in our hearts. Most of us wanted to go—and yet we didn't. Molly was particularly reluctant to leave.

"I do think it's a shame!" she said, tearfully.

"Must we go to-day, Charles?" pleaded Sally Rebecca.

"Alas!" murmured Gran'pa. "We must, my dear!... Time is always on the wing. It waits for no one. And, here, our task is finished...."

I leant over the deck rail and gazed pensively at the white cliffs rising from the blue green sea. Corisco the Beautiful! The romance of the happy days which we had spent there awoke tender memories and we were filled with the sadness of parting farewells. Obongi broke down completely, as did many of the other negroes. Even the missionaries and their wives could not conceal their grief. Molly had been to them everything that Gran'pa had prophesied—a ray of light in a dark world of ignorance and superstition; a link with "old times;" a glimpse of all they had left behind them in the countries of the civilized; a spirit of feminine youthfulness and abandon—such as is only understood and tolerated by the whites.

"When you come to England," said Molly to the Rev. William Watkins, "you'll bring Joey, won't you?"

Joey was her white-haired old "nigger man"—her particular pet—her swimming instructor—her bodyguard—her right hand....

"Certainly, I will, if possible," he answered.

"Daddy will pay for his fare to London," she explained.

I hadn't the heart to protest against this new form of extravagance at such a moment. In fact, I almost suggested taking Joey with us there and then, and was greatly surprised that Molly had not thought of it herself!

"All ashore!" cried Captain Morgan, breezily.

The handshakings, the embraces and the kisses ceased; the gangway was drawn up; the engines throbbed; and the good ship swung slowly round and pointed its bow to the south. From the eastern horizon the sun suddenly shot its golden arrows of light. At the same moment our two aeroplanes rose from the centre of the island and came roaring overhead. All was commotion and noise. Below deck, we even heard the sharp bark of a male gorilla and the shrill cry of a female.

The 'planes sped swiftly out to sea, until they were mere specks; the land, with its cheering and gesticulating crowd of blacks, slipped slowly away; the native craft contracted into tiny toy boats—now peeping at us from the tops of white crests of foam, now hiding in the trough of the waves. Gradually, we became a little, isolated community, afloat on the open sea. The terrors and hardships of the jungle and the queer, half-dream-like quality of the life we had led on Corisco resolved themselves into mere memories. Our mental outlook changed with the physical. We might almost have been aboard a steamer en route from England to France! Romance was dying; the glory of conquest was departing; adventure was dead. Henceforth, our task would be merely the commonplace one of spectators. Except for Sally Rebecca, we should now have to be content with watching others tread the paths of danger and excitement. And when that was finished—what then? Would life become ordinary and respectable and safe again, or would it open into vistas of still greater accomplishments?

"You look miserable, George!" said Gran'pa, breaking into my thoughts.

"I am! I'm loath to leave. It is as if Fate has written 'Finis' and only blank pages are left in the Book of Life...."

"Nonsense! This is merely the 'Introduction.'"

"It's all very well for you," I complained. "You and Sally Rebecca are just beginning."

"Your time will come later!"

"The zest will have gone by then."

"Did it with me?"

"No! But you're different...."

"We're of the same flesh, George! You'll be just as keen when you're my age. Cheer up, old man!"

It was poor comfort to suggest that I ought to look forward to growing old in order that I might become young again, but it was typical of Gran'pa's strange outlook on life. He revelled in his aged youthfulness, and I believe that he felt really sorry for merely young people.

"It's such an anticlimax," I complained. "Sneaking back with only a couple of dozen pairs of monkey glands after all our adventures and excitements."

"Don't you worry," he said. "There'll be plenty of excitement at Windhuk when I tell those old people. I wouldn't be surprised at a riot. You don't know how obstinate and querulous octogenarians are when they're in danger of being robbed of their rights. They hate sporting chances. We shall wish we were peacefully back amongst the gorillas yet."

Touching at Swakopmund, we despatched Sally Rebecca and Stringer by rail to Windhuk, a distance of about 240 miles. Molly, who insisted on going there by 'plane, remained on board.

When we reached Walfisch Bay, "The Pilgrim Father" was anchored some distance out from the land to prevent any troublesome questions being asked by the port authorities.

It was our intention eventually to convey the glands by rowboat to the mainland and thence by aeroplane to Windhuk. Meanwhile, Gran'pa, Dr. Croft and I went ashore to make final arrangements with Oakley and Newland, who were awaiting us with their machines. The crew, anxious to get a glimpse of "civilization" again, followed in another boat. Thus it came about that Molly, Captain Morgan and the gorillas were left on board alone—one of those foolish arrangements which never reveal their importance until it is too late.

We were met by Oakley and Newland the moment we landed and at once inspected the "town"—a miserable looking collection of corrugated iron buildings, an uninviting hotel, and a few stores—all dumped down in a great expanse of bare, flat sand. A terrible example of how not to develop one of the finest natural harbors on the East Coast of Africa.

Oppressed by the gloomy aspect of the place, Dr. Croft and I decided to return to the ship, leaving Gran'pa to come back later with the crew.

Anchored about half a mile out, "The Pilgrim Father" looked very picturesque and romantic, standing silhouetted against the faint yellowish-gray glow of the twilight sky.

As we approached, we heard sounds of music stealing over the quiet waters, "March of the Men of Harlech!"

"Captain Morgan's busy with his concertina," remarked Croft.

"Yes! He sounds a little erratic, though," I replied.

The music stopped and the gentle splash of the oars took its place. From the shore came the sound of a sudden burst of human cries in the still night air, and then the sharp yelp-yelp of a dog.

Then more music—quick and rollicking—of the "hi-tiddly-hi-ti!" variety. It lasted for about a minute and was immediately succeeded by a man's deep laugh.

Silence again. A star winked here and there, and presently a bright yellow light sprang out of the ship's side, casting a moon-like image on the water.

"How peaceful!" I thought.

Once more the concertina spoke to us—but with a different, steadier and surer voice than before.

"Ah! This is the real Captain Morgan!" I said to Croft. "But the other.... I wouldn't be surprised if the old sinner hasn't been teaching Molly to play!"

We were now within about a hundred yards of the ship's side and I could see the silhouette of Molly's pretty little girlish head moving swiftly hither and thither as if she were dancing. Snatches of song also came from her lips—half-remembered lines and phrases, little animal-like grunts of joy, weird hummings....

The deliciously cool sea air, the lapping of the water against our boat, a swaying lantern on "The Pilgrim Father," the hushed stillness of Nature, and the great gray shroud of mist creeping down on us from the horizon, all imparted to the scene a vague dream-like quality. Molly became a nymph, a will-o'-the-wisp, a sprite. Youth indeed! What nonsense this business of rejuvenation was compared with the care-free ecstasy of those who were young in soul! What a terrible mockery of the real joy of life were we instituting in that awful hospital for the aged at Windhuk!

As I watched her swiftly-moving and gyrating figure, I was filled with pity for myself and others—for all that vast multitude of humans who could never again recover the fine, free Spirit of Youth. In our blindness we might seek palliatives against pain, and foolish stimulants for jaded nerves and waning appetites and diminishing pleasures, but our greatest endeavors would always be in vain. One by one, we were creeping onwards and downwards. Here and there, a little rise on Life's roadway; here and there, a whiff of fresh keen air again; here and there a shaft of sunlight in a slowly darkening world; but always that view of the straight pathway which leads down to a "ripe old age."

The Song of Youth, with its rippling, flute-like accompaniment, grew faster and faster until at last it suddenly stopped and I heard Molly cry out in a loud (and almost breathless) voice:

"Oh!... You are mean!... How can I keep up with that?"

The concertina slackened its speed into a mere drawl and then changed into a terrible discord of squeaks and grunts.

"I believe Molly's shaking the old chap!" whispered Croft.

We brought our boat to a standstill, anxious to remain an unseen audience for a little while longer.

"Do stop playing!" cried Molly.

"I have!" answered Taffy.

"I don't mean that playing—I mean being so silly! Do you know any Irish jigs?"

Evidently he did, for the next moment the concertina broke out into a wild, Celtic dance tune.

I saw Molly spin round with sheer delirious joy, extend her arms, throw back her head, and proceed to give an unauthorized version of an Irish dancer.

"Begorrah!" she cried; and "Och!" (apparently under the impression that all primitive people emitted weird noises when executing a national dance.)

Croft turned to say something to me, but before the words had time to leave his mouth a dull, muffled thud seemed to shake the whole ship. It was as if someone had struck a blow with a great hammer, away down in the deepest and darkest part of the hold.

The next moment the music ceased, and I saw a light in one of the port-holes flicker out into nothingness. There followed the sharp, rending crash of breaking wood-work, a roar like distant thunder, a heavy plump on deck, and a deep-throated animal cry of triumph.

"My God!" I cried. "It's one of those gorillas! Row, man!... Row!"

We must have been some thirty to forty yards from the ship's side, but in the pandemonium which followed it seemed as inaccessible as if we had been that many miles away. Everything happened so quickly. Everything was so indeterminate and phantomlike in the dusk.

I heard Molly and Captain Morgan give a shout of dismay and terror and saw them turn their heads swiftly in the direction of the hatch. A second later they were running for their lives in the opposite direction.

"Jump!" I shouted at the top of my voice. "Molly! Jump!"

Whether the poor distracted child heard me I do not know, but she certainly took no heed. As she and the Captain disappeared round the other side of the ship there was a sudden and uncanny silence, broken presently by another blood-curdling roar from the gorilla.

I stood up in the rocking boat, shouted again, raised my revolver in the air, and fired into the starlit sky.

"Molly!" I cried, in anguish of soul.

She heard this time—thank God!—for there was an immediate answering long-drawn cry of: "Dad-dee!" from the bows. We rowed quickly in that direction and saw a huddled shape drop from the rigging and run along the deck like the shadow of a little old man. I fired, missed the brute, and heard a sudden scream of terror from Molly as it rushed on all fours towards her.

"Jump!" I bellowed.

Another cry from the bows, the sudden appearance of a slight, girlish figure on the deck rail, a splash, a bump as our canoe struck the ship's side—and Molly was saved!

With my own hands, I hauled her in—surely the most precious burden that a man ever landed from the dark, mysterious sea.

"Daddy!" she wept, as she clung to me in her dripping clothes. "Oh! I am glad you were here!" And then, with a swift dismissal of all thought of her own plight: "Where's Captain Morgan?"

Without waiting for a reply, she raised her hands, cup-shaped, to her mouth.

"Captain Morgan!" she called.... "Here we are!"

No answer. But as we strained our ears for some sound of life on the dark and silent vessel which loomed above us, we heard a thud and the muffled curse of a man in difficulties. Then something hard and metallic struck the mast and fell to the deck with a crash.

Thrusting the canoe away from the ship's side, I shouted again:

"Jump, man!"

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than over he came, striking the water within a couple of yards of our boat.

We dragged him aboard, as though he were some huge, wet fish, thrown up unexpectedly from the deep; and then we held a council of war.

To have attempted to locate and shoot an enraged gorilla on board a vessel which was a hive of shelters and shadows would have been running risks that no one but a lunatic would have faced. Far simpler and safer to wait until morning. The gorilla is not an animal which will swim, even under the greatest provocation. Consequently, there was no fear of his taking his glands away with him in the dead of night."Do you think any of the others have escaped?" I asked Captain Morgan.

"Can't say! That fellow was most likely the one we had to put by himself because of his vile temper. If he is one of the twenty in the big cage, then the rest of them must be free—or soon will be!"

This seemed logical enough.

"It will be a pity if we have to kill the whole lot of the brutes," said Croft. "We could never capture them alive."

I agreed. Shooting gorillas is not sport; it seems too much like murdering one's fellow creatures—a form of enlightenment laudable only in human warfare. Quite apart from this, it was our intention to replace the gorilla's glands with live goat glands—an absurd, unfruitful operation to perform on a dead animal.

"Hadn't we better get ashore?" asked Captain Morgan rather abruptly. "I don't like hanging about in these wet clothes."

We commenced rowing again, but before we had gone a couple of dozen yards, I heard the sound of the other boat returning.

"That you, George?" came Gran'pa's voice out of the darkness.

Molly and I let up a joint shout of affirmation.

Unaware of what had happened, Gran'pa drew near to us and announced boisterously:

"Well, George—we've got our goats all right!"

"Yes!" I said, "and I've something else that'll get your goat. One of those confounded gorillas has escaped and is in possession of the ship."

"What's that?" he barked.

I repeated the information and gave him lurid details of Molly's and Captain Morgan's miraculous escape."If we'd stopped with you," I observed, "instead of returning when we did, God knows what would have happened. There's a streak of luck even in our worst misfortunes."

Seldom have I seen Gran'pa as excited as he was at that moment. He spluttered inarticulately, stood up in the boat, and nearly fell overboard.

"Hell!" he exploded. "What are we going to do if the brute starts running amok—and letting out the others? Anything may happen. There may be a free fight—murder—anything!... Those females, too...."

He broke off dramatically and I could see at once that his real fear was that the gorilla (and consequently the glands) chosen for Sally Rebecca might be damaged.

"We can't do anything to-night...." I began.

"Can't we?" he cried. "If you think I'm going to leave that hulking brute in charge of the ship you were never more mistaken in your life. Who'll come with me?"

Silence! Who, indeed, would board that vessel and face heaven knew what horrible peril?

"Listen to me, Gran'pa...."

"Very well!" he snapped. "I'll go myself! I'm not afraid!... Come alongside.... That's right!"

In spite of our remonstrances and arguments, Gran'pa clambered into our boat, turned Captain Morgan and Molly out into the other one, and ordered the crew to take them ashore at once.

A couple of minutes later, Croft and Gran'pa and I were staring up at the dark hull of "The Pilgrim Father"—surely one of the most strangely manned vessels which ever rode the seas.

For all we knew to the contrary, its crew consisted solely of over twenty escaped gorillas—lying in wait, watching, scheming. The first human being to board such a ship might be torn to pieces in an instant, and yet—

"Keep the damned boat still, George!" whispered Gran'pa, hoarsely. "I can see something...."

So could I. The vessel was filled with weird, fantastic shapes, every one of which might be a gorilla. Some of them seemed to move like stealthy ghosts in a phantom world; some were statuesque, corpselike; and all rose and fell with the gentle sway of the ocean. But there was not a sound anywhere, save the lap, lap of the water against the ship's side. From a solitary port-hole came the gleam of a light which only intensified the surrounding darkness, whilst on deck a lantern flickered and then went out.

It was the spectre-like quality of the scene which made it so gruesome and unnerving. One felt afraid not so much of gorillas as of—Things....

Only a man like Gran'pa—driven to desperation by an exaggerated sense of danger to something he valued—would have dared to face such unknown, terrifying perils. But he never hesitated for one moment.

Unable to locate anything at which we could fire with the certainty that it was a gorilla, Gran'pa insisted on our rowing round to the bows, where he removed his boots, swarmed up the anchor chain, and dropped silently aboard. Conscious of the intensely dramatic aspect of the situation, Croft and I backwatered our boat a dozen yards or so, and waited.

We saw Gran'pa creep along, in a crouching attitude, until he reached a dense, black shadow, where he suddenly vanished, as if he had dropped to his hands and knees. A second later something moved on the captain's bridge."See that?" I whispered to Croft. "It couldn't possibly be Gran'pa. Shall we fire?"

"No! There's a chance that it might be he—he's so quick! Shout, instead!"

"Look on the bridge!" we cried, as in one voice.

The words of warning had hardly left our lips when a little red spurt of flame leaped out of the darkness, a crash rent the still air and a shrill yell of pain told us immediately that the bullet had found its mark.

A medley of vague, half muffled sounds followed. We heard a heavy thud as the gorilla flung himself straight from the bridge to the deck; then the rush of padded feet; another thud; a groan, which might have been either human or simian—and, finally, a sudden, breathless silence.

I was horrified by the imaginative but vivid picture of Gran'pa lying helpless, with perhaps a broken limb or neck, and the wounded gorilla seeking some ghastly revenge.

"Gran'pa!" I shouted. "I'm coming aboard!"

"Stop where you are, you fool ...!" came the reply.

Pandemonium ensued. The gorilla roared; Gran'pa fired; and the whole deck seemed to be suddenly alive with bustle and noise. I was convinced that not one, but a dozen apes were loose. Cries, bumps, yells and roars ascended into the night air as if the lid had been taken off some hidden inferno of lost and tortured souls. Every gorilla on board, whether free or captive, must have been contributing to that chorus of rage and hatred.

At times, individual cries followed one another in quick succession, culminating in a unanimous roar that seemed to shake the vessel from stem to stern.

No man but Gran'pa could have lived and retained his sanity through such an ordeal; and yet never once did he cry for help. Single-handed, he went aboard "The Pilgrim Father," and fought—and won.

"George!" he yelled, during the first lull.

"Yes?" I shouted back.

"It's all right, laddie! He's dead!"

He actually had the temerity to strike a match, and we then saw that he was bending down, looking at something.

"Aren't there any others loose?" I cried, in amazement.

"I don't think so!" he replied coolly. "I'll just go and see!"

Once more a deep silence had fallen on the vessel and, tense with anxiety, we waited while he went below.

"He simply doesn't know what fear is," said Croft.

"I don't think he ever did," I answered. "Certainly, not since he was rejuvenated."

"If those old men at Windhuk start complaining, it would be as well to mention this affair."

"Don't worry!" I observed. "Gran'pa will be the first to rub it in, if necessary. His accomplishments are many—and he never forgets the fact."

A minute or so later, Gran'pa was on deck again, serenely explaining that everyone below was quite comfortable and safe.

"A little excited, perhaps," he joked. "But that is only to be expected."

He was about to return to our boat when he suddenly thought of the dead gorilla.

"We'd better have this fellow's glands put into cold storage. A pity to waste them.... If you'll just wait a moment I'll light up and you can come aboard. It's quite safe now, George...."

I held my peace—mainly because I had no adequate reply—but even when we did go aboard I could feel cold shivers running up and down my back.

"Did you count the gorillas below?" I asked.

"What a man you are!" laughed Gran'pa. "Yes! I read the roll call twice. There was a full attendance."

I could see that he was in a taunting mood, so I flattered him a little.

"You had nerve," I said, "to come on this deck in the dark."

He put his hand on my shoulder good-humoredly.

"George," he replied, "you never seem able to see both sides of the question. That gorilla had scores of hiding-places; but I had just as many, minus one—the one being the particular spot he was in at any given moment. He may have had the beef, too; but I had the brains—and a loaded revolver. I was sorry for that poor, misguided brute the second my socks touched the deck."

How simple everything always was when Gran'pa explained!

All I desired now was that he would be able to use the same species of disarming logic on the morrow, when eighty-seven eager old men began clamoring for their new glands.