“Not quite,” he smiled. His manner shamed me for my agitation and for my sarcasm. “This is nothing that can give life to a person through the centuries. I do not say that such a treatment could not be given, but I doubt the wisdom of perpetrating such a curse upon the human race which has enough tragedy within a normal lifetime.” He thrummed his long fingers idly on the arm of the chair in which he lounged as though he were not speaking of amazing things. “I have an ether rate which, when incorporated with any living object, will retard the development of old age. At the same time I do not wish to put a stop to the rich mental and spiritual development which comes through the years. Imagine the rounded beauty of a woman grown wise and kind with years and yet possessing the sweet grace, the bright and flashing eyes, the rounded form of youth.” His eyes grew bright as though he were envisioning loves of his early youth made beautiful again. “Have you tried it?” I, seasoned reporter who interviewed presidents and movie stars without undue excitement, sat forward in my chair--my heart beating with swift, rapid strokes--my mind whirling with the thought of a race kept perpetually and beautifully young. “On no person--on a plant. Let us apply the mordant to the daisy in your buttonhole. It still looks in excellent condition. The mordant applied would put the artificial flower makers out of business. The import of my inventions is tremendous. With this machine of mine,” he touched an instrument lovingly, solemnly, “the economic conditions of the world could be turned upside down.” Right here I can say that the daisy is still in my possession--is still in very excellent condition--except where I have broken a petal or two. Several years ago I showed it to the curator of the New York Metropolitan Museum. He thought it was a fresh flower. I convinced him that it was not by leaving the daisy in his possession for a month. I had great difficulty in taking it from him. He was willing to pay me heavily. It would have a place all its own. My name could be blazoned across the case in which it was to be shown. But I had enough money on which to exist and the daisy was precious to me. I have a love for the mysterious, the unusual, which amounts to a passion. In my possession are many strange objects assembled through the years. Many leisure hours I have spent with them--wondering, marveling--feeling immensity spin past me and the inscrutable approach interpretation. And the most loved of this collection is the daisy, for it is tied up with remembrances as well as with wonder. “I am striving to produce a state of continuous youth in people,” continued MacDowell. “True, I can keep them well. That I have already demonstrated to you. But they grow old. I do not wish to keep them from death--that is not my desire. But why should flesh become such a wretched thing to gaze upon? The mordant, I believe, will keep youth intact.”