Then his legs gave way, and he suddenly sat down on the pavement and began crying hysterically. I called a taxi, gathered him up, and hustled him into it, where he sat twitching in the corner like a man with Saint Vitus' dance. Although I don't pretend to understand very much about medical science, I do know that thyroid gland secretion has a remarkably stimulating effect on the mental faculties. With too little of it, one is dull and lifeless; with too much of it, one is active and highly strung. Could it be that Alfred's glands were too vigorous, and that what was normally good for monkey was abnormally bad for man? It was a very discomfiting thought, and I grew so alarmed at Gran'pa's condition that I decided to get him a bromide draught. It would, at any rate, afford temporary relief. So we drew up at the nearest chemist's shop, where I bought Gran'pa a soothing powder. "Stick your tongue out," I ordered, when I returned to the taxi. He protested at first, but soon gave way, and I carefully tipped the white pacifier into the centre of the scoop-shaped receptacle which he was holding out in readiness. "Now swill it down with this," I said, handing him a glass of water. Again he obeyed. Then he settled back in his corner and fell sound asleep. "This is cheerful!" I thought. "How on earth are we going to get him into the train at Waterloo?" I considered the matter for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that we should have to taxi home. Much to Molly's delight, I broke the news to the reluctant driver, and away we sped at last. When we got back, Nanny and I put Gran'pa to bed, gave him a glass of hot milk and hoped for the best. The following morning he came down to breakfast, looking more aggressively energetic than ever. "You're very full of beans," I said. He braced his shoulders. "Yes," he replied. "It must have been that powder, George!" "That was a _soothing_ powder, man!" I exclaimed. "Not a tonic." "You don't say so!" "I certainly bought it as such!" He looked into the fire for a moment or so, in mild contemplation. Then he turned to me again. "That was a wonderful play, George. D'you know any more like it?" "No! It's unique. Even if it were not, I wouldn't take you to another of the same kind." "Why not?" "Can't you remember?" "I recollect being very interested in it." "Is that all?" I gasped. He paused. "I was dreaming a good deal last night," he confessed, sheepishly. "What sort of dreams?" "Oh! Nightmare and things. . . . That fellow Captain Hook was after me. So were those wolves." His eyes were shining and his cheeks glowing. There was no doubt that "Peter Pan" had left a very vivid impression on him. "Would you like me to send for Dr. Croft?" I asked. "No! Certainly not! Don't _you_ ever get . . . roused, George?" "Yes! I did last night!" "Wonderful play!" he murmured, entirely missing my point. "Wonderful . . . !"