"I won't say, yet," he answered. "It's not merely a question of new glands and new vital essences. At such an age as your grandfather's, a considerable hardening of the tissues and arteries has taken place. The bones are more brittle, the cartilage partly ossified, the skin less elastic, the nerves less sensitive, and, of course, the hair and teeth are going. His heart is very strong, however, and given that, I believe almost anything is possible." I breathed a sigh of relief, and Dr. Croft proceeded to deliver a fifteen-minute technical dissertation on the cause of old age. He also spoke of the new method of rejuvenation by means of glandular graftings as if he had first learned of it in the nursery--and didn't think very much of it. In a pessimistic peroration, he said: "There may be a thousand and one arguments in favor of this new theory, but perhaps in the end there will be just one damning little detail which will circumvent the whole process of repair. Now you can understand why I don't wish to be too dogmatic in this case." I did! (As a drowning man sees the lights of a distant ship.) He began again--just as I was hoping that he had finished--and inflicted on me a further lecture, dealing solely with the functions of "ductless glands" in general (whatever they may be). Through the corner of my eye I saw Gran'pa fastening his braces in a quiet, contemplative manner--apparently oblivious of the fact that his possibilities were being discussed in such astounding detail. I also saw that he was having some little difficulty with his boot-laces and his collar, muttering to himself the while. No doubt the stress of the last half-hour had made him a trifle shaky. But he bore up bravely. So did I. And then at last, I realized that Dr. Croft had finished. My poor, numbed brain tried to grapple with this sudden influx of new knowledge. In my supreme ignorance I had hitherto looked on the body as just a fairly simple contrivance of beef, bone, blood and brain, with a digestive apparatus for turning Foods into Human Being. Instead of that, we appeared to be one conglomeration of complicated and mysterious glands. All else was merely subsidiary. As a little child speaks to its teacher, I said: "How many of these do you propose grafting into Gran'pa?" "The thyroids only. We will see how these work first." "Do you agree, Gran'pa?" I shouted. "I leave myself entirely in Dr. Croft's hands," replied Gran'pa, doing up the last of his buttons. "Very well," I said, turning to the doctor again. "We'll have just the two thyroids to begin with; and I'll see that he is round here by ten o'clock in the morning. Good-by!" We escaped to the open air once more, Gran'pa linking his arm through mine, as if in dire need of comfort. "Last day of the old life, George," he observed, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Let's go and have a drink, to . . . celebrate it. Thank God that, for the moment at any rate, we are in England!"