"It's a matter of life and death. Your own life and death. We have to get those things out of your stomach." "No, sir, you're not cuttin' me open." Dr. Manson gritted his teeth in frustration. "You don't feel so much pain now because of the morphine I gave you. But it's going to wear off in a few minutes and then you'll be in agony again. You'll have to let us operate." "No, sir," repeated Ollie stubbornly. "You're not cuttin' me open." And then he almost leaped from his bed. His already distended stomach seemed to swell outward, and before the astonished eyes of doctor and nurse, a strange new bump appeared. "Help!" yelled Ollie. "That's exactly what we're trying to do," said Dr. Manson angrily. "Only you won't let us. Now sign that paper, man, and stop your nonsense." Ollie groaned and signed. The next moment he was being rushed into the operating room. * * * * * The morphine was wearing off rapidly, and he lay, still groaning, on the table. From the ceiling, bright lights beat down upon him. Near his head the anesthetist stood with his cone of sleep poised in readiness. At one side a happy Dr. Manson was slipping rubber gloves on his antiseptic hands, while the attentive nurses and assistants waited. Two interns were standing near the doorway. One of them, Zolto, said softly, "We may have to use violence after all. They must not find it." "I should have given him a third tablet," said Pojim, the other intern, regretfully. "Who would have suspected that the action would be so slow?" They fell silent. Zolto slipped a hand into his pocket and grasped the weapon, the one he had hoped he wouldn't have to use. Dr. Manson nodded curtly and said, "Anesthetic." And then, as the anesthetist bent forward, it happened. Ollie's uncovered stomach, lying there in wait for the knife, seemed to heave and boil. Ollie shrieked and, as the assembled medicos watched in dazed fascination, the knobs and bumps smoothed out. The whole stomach began to shrink, like a cake falling in when some one has slammed the oven door. The pandigestive tablets had finally acted. Ollie sat up. He forgot that he was wearing the skimpy and shameless nightgown, forgot, too, that he had a roomful of spectators. He pushed away the anesthetist who tried to stop him. "I feel fine," he said. "Lie down," ordered Dr. Manson sternly. "We're going to operate and find out what's wrong with you." "You're not cuttin' into me," said Ollie. He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. "There ain't nothin' wrong with me. I feel wonderful. For the first time in my life I ain't hungry, and I'm spoilin' for trouble. Don't nobody try to stop me." He started to march across the floor, pushing his way through the protesting doctors. "This way," said one of the interns near the door. "We'll get your clothes." Ollie looked at her in suspicion, but she went on, "Remember? I'm the one who gave you the tablets to make the pain go away."