Tremendous applause greeted Carl as he finished his lecture. Immensely elated, he shouted, “I am satisfied. I have a machine that is one hundred per cent. perfect.” The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a great seven-league boot kicked him off the globe, while a voice said, “The hell you have!” Falling through space he looked back and saw another man, a young fellow he had seen in his audience, pick up the machine saying, “Here we have it, one hundred per cent. perfect.” And again came the gigantic boot and the voice, “The hell you have!” and he, too, slid off the planet. A second man, one of the type termed “nut” came along and seeing the device, called out gleefully, “Years ago I invented this, but could not make it work. Now I shall claim it mine.” And again that sneering “The hell you will!” followed by so forceful a kick that the old man flew in a wide arc over Carl’s head and descended rapidly to the depths beneath. All the while Carl noticed that it was becoming hotter and hotter. At first he could not grasp the meaning of it, but then came the dawning of the truth that Hades was his destination. He turned around and screamed, “What is all this about?” From somewhere in the far distance, he heard a deep even voice respond, “Young man, if everybody should come into the possession of one hundred per cent. perfection, which by the way is an impossibility, there would be no incentive for improvement, and that would stagnate all possible progress.” Carl became intensely hot and was perspiring dreadfully. His very vitals were burning and a terrible thirst was consuming him, but he managed to say, “But I have it and I am going to hold on to it!” A hand was on his arm, and a melancholy yet sweet voice barely audible came to him, saying, “Please, Mr. Lohman, have a drink.” Carl was but half awake, his mind still floating in airy regions, but he managed to rouse himself, and opening his eyes, he saw his charming nurse, Grace, standing at the side of his bed. A teaspoonful of warm water was poured between his parched lips. That was all he could have just then, but to the fevered man it was nectar of the gods. Carl, on regaining full consciousness was anxious to know whether he had said anything of Sana during his coma. He questioned nurse Grace guardedly, but was told that he had only grunted like a little pig for a time and then had mechanically delivered a lecture on the tombs of the Pharaohs. Satisfied, Carl dosed off into a fitful sleep, to be awakened some hours later, by plaintive strains of music. Twisting his head in the direction from which the sounds came, Carl beheld three musicians standing at the entrance of the ward. He recalled then, of having heard that they came every Saturday evening to play to the suffering patients. Upon the strangely stirred spirit of Carl, the magic of this weird native music had a subtle effect, and burying his face in the pillow, he wept bitterly, weeping only as a strong man can weep.