His enemy is creeping slowly upon him, imagining himself unseen, little knowing of his disadvantage of being upon all fours. With a hideous yell he springs into view. But our upright brother is calmly chattering. He has used that thumb--he has grasped a club! The enemy is awe-stricken at that erect figure, which drives him to cover and strikes him dead. The mate in the tree screams with exultation, the offspring leaps to her bosom, and both descend to embrace their upright spouse and father in a perfect whirl of chattering. Inarticulate chattering, most unlike speech, but still chattering--for Love was born. And those other enemies, those tremendous enemies, various and of a multitude of shapes, some as big as a mastodon--think of it!--he can see them away in the distance in season to escape. He pats himself with a sense of relief. He even kisses his wife. Scenes shift before me; and there is a persistent blank in the panorama. This tapestry of the fated past, vast and unknown, winds and unwinds before me. Yet chaos on the screen is becoming more and more definite in outline. Yes, praise be given, there is the figure, the same upright figure, before me again. He is sitting on a rocky beach, bordering the bank of a gurgling river. His club is beside him. It is evidently late in the autumn, for the rock pile is covered with dried leaves. A little animal that he has killed with his club, is lying beside him. That off-member, the thumb, has grown strong on both hands, and he is grabbing the smaller boulders with intense delight and clashing them together. What? A spark flew to the elemental tinder and the dead leaves are all ablaze. The figure became so frightened at this sight and so insane in his actions that he fell into the river. But by the time he scrambled ashore, the blaze had spent its force, and he noticed that where he shook himself, the water extinguished the fire. Gracious! What a relief to be without those biting colors once more. What _did_ cause that trouble? He sits upon his haunches and ponders until his mind hurts. He is hungry. Where is the animal that he killed? He looks over at the rock pile with trepidation. Yes, there is the little carcass, but its fur is gone! He can hardly recognize it. He summons up courage and snatches it. But it hurts so that he lets it fall. He sucks his thumb in pain. The new smell! The new taste! Those biting colors made that rich odor and delicious flavor. How did he make them? He will make them again! He wants some more cooked meat. Here the panorama ceased; and I fell inadvertently into a light sleep. I know not for how long I remained in slumber, but I was abruptly aroused by cries of “Fire! Fire!” That did not seem to me strange, as my room is directly opposite an engine house. I rushed to my windows. I could hear the telephone and the telegraph ring and click in the engine house. Gong! Gong! The fire tower sounded. Gong! Gong! And there was the hitching up of the fire patrol.