He was clearly upset at the sudden failure of his plans, and I could not help sympathizing with him. That previous day's search in the East End for a gentleman with a monkey for sale must have been a strenuous enough undertaking at his age, but the skylarking in the kitchen must have been a still greater strain. Nothing but Gran'pa's intense enthusiasm for the cause could possibly have supplied such tremendous motive power to a man of ninety-five. His endurance, his persistence, and his unswerving faith and optimism had been extraordinary from the very moment he had read that article. For the first time since his arrival in England, he seemed to have waked up. It was, indeed, more than a little sad to think that such industry had ended in failure. "D'you intend offering a reward for the monkey's recovery?" I asked. "Certainly!" "Isn't it unwise? You'll only have people talking." "What about? There's no reason why a man can't keep a monkey if he wants to. Nothing very startling in that." "Perhaps not. But you must know that this theory of the interstitial glands is in all the papers. Everyone is talking about it. They'd immediately associate your extreme age with . . ." "George!" he interrupted. "Yes?" "Are you trying to be funny at my expense?" "Of course I'm not, Gran'pa. I'm merely pointing out the ordinary, everyday view which people will take. You're so carried away by your enthusiasm that I think you don't realize some of the dangers incurred." "Danger? What danger?" "Over-excitement is one of them. Public ridicule another." He snapped his fingers. "_That_--to both of 'em." "Suppose the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals steps in?" I suggested. "Society of Fiddlesticks. My life is worth more than a wretched little monkey's." "I quite agree. But will everyone hold the same opinion if you go through with this--butchery of defenceless apes?" I thought that I had found a weak spot in his armor at last; but I was mistaken. These last few days had wrought a miraculous change in him. Physically, he was much the same; but, mentally, he seemed to be an entirely different man. To put the matter crudely but vividly, his mind now had "ginger" in it. It was alive, active, rebellious, uncannily penetrating. "George!" he said. "I want a quiet talk with you. It's about time, too! I seem to have been sitting in that chair for years without making a murmur. And you've thought my brains were dead. It must be this confounded climate of yours. But I'll show you." He suddenly stopped and looked at Molly. "I'm going to have a word with your father," he said. "Run in to Nanny for a few minutes, my dear." As she left the room I had the feeling that something ominous was going to happen. I filled my pipe, lit it, sat down on the edge of the table and waited.