“How can the normal account for the abnormal?” answered the doctor. “Here we have a set of nerves the functions of which are ill understood. We know that unilateral destruction of a center will partially abolish sensation on the opposite side of the body. A bilatereal lesion will destroy all sensation. In simple language, if the hearing nerves are damaged on the right side, you are somewhat deaf in the left ear; but general destruction means total deafness. That is what happens when the ordinary appliances are deranged. It is beyond me to explain the process whereby those same appliances obtain a tenfold, perhaps a thousand-fold, activity.” “Is such a thing possible?” The Civil Surgeon selected a cigar from five exactly similar weeds in his case with a care that betokened a nice discrimination. “One does not discuss these matters with womenfolk, Grier; they think ye are flying in the face of Providence,” he said. “Therefore, keep my opeenion for yer own lug, so to speak. I have a theory, a pipe-and-tobacco bit of pheelosophy, mind you, that human inventiveness is bounded only by the latent powers of the human brain. The limits are absolute, but they are far beyond our dimmest comprehension, as yet. I suppose you never saw an epileptic lunatic?” “No.” The tea-planter disliked the abrupt question. When you come to think of it, it had a disagreeable sound in a discussion of a pretty child’s simple ailment. Doctors are apt to forget their hearers’ unscientific feelings. “It provides a most interesting study,” said Dr. Macpherson, with a grim glee. “Such a case is frequently accompanied by sensory hallucinations and certain subjective sensations, such as unseen flashes of light and color, strange, and often offensive, tastes and smells, the result of some morbid irritation of the cortical sensory centers, which are the anatomical subtrata of ideation.” “What the--what has all this got to do with Karl?” demanded Grier, with rising wrath. “Softly, noo, ma man. Before ye build ye mun have a foundation. I am one of those who think that insanity is closely akin to genius. An extra dense membrane may convert a potential Isaac Newton into an actual eediot. The other day, a clever Frenchman--they are daring deevils, the French--opened an imbecile’s skull, rearranged his brain lobes, and provided space for expansion. The imbecile went through all the processes of intellectual growth, and is now a sane man. Why should not nature go one better than the surgeon, and suddenly irradiate her wide realm by some lightning gleam? In other days her efforts in that direction led her subjects to martyrdom or sanctity, by the sheer chance of their being on the winning or losing side. Mostly, both then and now, she sends her unfortunate failures to the mad-house.” “Look here, Macpherson,” interrupted Grier hotly, “you are talking about my boy, remember.”