In course of time Harley D. Haworth was carefully laid away in his ice-cold "coffin," and those who read the obituaries did not suspect that he was the first of men to die a qualified death. * * * * * He lay on his back, staring at the white ceiling--it had not occurred to him yet to move. His uncoördinated muscles left his face blank but he was frowning mentally. There was something he wanted to remember, something.... He struggled laboriously to pin down those elusive shapes, but the _words_ wouldn't come. It's hard to think when the words won't come. His eyes sharpened their focus a little and he perceived that he was in _bed_. _Hospital_, he thought clearly, _I'm in a hospital, of course._ He felt more and more secure now and, after a moment's relaxation, tried again to remember. A man's voice said clearly, "What am I?" A feminine voice said pleasantly, "You're a man, and your name is Haworth. Feeling all right?" Thousands of little relays clicked in H.D.'s brain and he sat up quickly. This room was white and windowless, but it was not the vault in Michigan--and that tall, clear-eyed brownette with the grave eyes and tender lips was certainly not Dr. Stevens. The man's voice said, "I guess so," and this time H.D. realized that _he_ had spoken. The blood rushed to his head and pounded in his ears, for it had been a strong, _young_ voice. He ripped away the sheet that covered him, careless of his nakedness, and it was true. These limbs were firmly rounded, the smooth skin pink with the warm blood coursing beneath. His wildest hopes were realized. He snatched the mirror smilingly proffered him and there it was, that face of youth once lost to faded photographs! Then a great wave swept in with a rush, a roar, a dazzling sparkle of spray. He emerged from his faint to find the head of his bed elevated, the woman in white holding his wrist to count his pulse. _Well, this is it_, H.D. thought jubilantly, _it actually panned out. I did it, I did it!_ Now to plunge into the great adventure--millions of questions to ask, millions of things to do--a new world to conquer. H.D. rubbed his hands briskly together in his habitual getting-down-to-business gesture. Loosing his hand, the brownette looked up from her watch. Her eyes were dark blue, and.... Bells rang in the back of H.D.'s head, his skin tingled and he forgot what he wanted to say. Her faint, sweet perfume was in his nostrils; a long-forgotten stimulus performed its ancient function. Being a direct man by nature and training, H.D. decided that the shortest distance between two points was to seize this delicious creature. Without more ado he lunged. But she had stepped back, shaking her head and smiling reprovingly, and H.D. almost fell out of bed. He recovered and collected himself, and laughed to show that he was a good sport.