“Yes, sir! And every one is made of something that grows right beside your door, as you might say. Now take this.” He shook a phial until the sediment at the bottom turned the liquid to a muddy purple as seen against the light. “Nothing but poke-berry! I don’t mind letting you in on that because lots of people know about getting color from poke-berry. But here’s one, by ginger, you won’t often see!” He held up a second bottle and Willard gazed on a quite gorgeous crimson. “How’s that for color?” asked McNatt. “You don’t find anything finer than that, I’ll bet!” “Mighty pretty,” responded Willard. “What’s that made from?” McNatt chuckled, winked portentously and shook his head. “That’s a secret. I’d tell you only I might want to go into the business some day, Harmon. Not as a life-work, you understand, but-- Know anything about mycology?” “No, what is it?” “The study of mushrooms and fungi. Awfully interesting. I’m just taking it up. Some of them make wonderful dyes, and that’s what started me. I’ve found thirteen varieties of mushrooms already, and I’ve been out only four times.” He looked approvingly out at the rain. “There’ll be lots of them tomorrow, I guess. I found a giant puff-ball over near where I met you that day, only it was rotten. They’re delicious eating. Some day when I find one that’s in good condition I’ll let you know and we’ll have a feast. I’ve got a little alcohol stove in there that you can cook almost anything on. I had a few the other night and they were mighty good. Winfred--Winfred Fuller, you know; he rooms here with me--Winfred said they made him feel sort of sick, but I guess it was more likely something he had for dinner.” “Still, some mushrooms are poisonous, aren’t they?” inquired Willard doubtfully. “Lots of them, but it isn’t difficult to tell them from the others, you know. I’ve got a book that tells all about it. Where is it?” McNatt looked rather hopelessly about him. “I don’t see it just now. Winfred’s mixed my things up again, I dare say. He’s a very decent fellow, but he hasn’t any idea of orderliness. Next time you come it will probably be around.” Their travels had brought them back to the corridor end of the room and Willard’s attention was attracted by a small bottle hanging by a string from a thumb-tack beneath the electric light switch. “What’s that for?” he asked. “Eh? Oh, that?” McNatt removed it as he spoke. “That’s no good any more. I had a glow-worm and a firefly in there, but the firefly ate the glow-worm, or maybe it was the other way around: I forget now; and then the one who’d eaten the other one died, too.” He took the stopper from the bottle and inverted it, allowing the dried remains of some small occupant to fall out. “Besides,” he added, “you can buy little dinkuses made of radium that’ll do the same thing now.” “Well, but--but what was it they did?” asked Willard.