black and a gray.
The black monkey has the gray hands and forearms, the gray monkey has
the black. I made the exchange eighteen months ago. And they have
developed the same strength and skill with the grafted members that they
had with their own. I have a monkey who had only one eye when he came.
Now he has two--they aren't a good color match, but he sees as well with
one as the other. When these ideas are perfected it will be possible,
perhaps, to make old people young. The secret is absolute cleanliness
and the accuracy in joining of a Chippendale or an Adams. So you see,"
he smiled, "that in a way you and I are chasing the same ambition--how
to express the thing imagined through perfection of technique."

"Are you the only man working along these lines?"

"Heavens, no! Aristotle probably believed in animal grafting. But I
think that, owing to a natural talent for doing close and accurate work
with my hands, I have gone farther than anybody else. What gave you the
impulse to be a sculptor, Barbs?"

She laughed gayly. "The statues in the Metropolitan that have lost their
arms and heads and legs. I felt very sorry for them. I was very young
and foolish, and I invented a game to play. I'd select a statue that
needed an arm, say, and then I'd hunt among the other statues for an arm
that would fit, or for a head or whatever else was missing. Through
playing that game I got the idea of making whole statues from the
beginning and not bothering with fragments."

"And to think," said Dr. Ferris, "that we have failed to understand
each other. Why, Barbs, your ambition is a direct lineal descendant of
mine. It was a maimed marble that showed you your life's work. It was a
maimed child that showed me mine. It seems that at heart we are
both menders."

"I began on dolls," said Barbara.

"And I began on guinea-pigs."

A footman entered with whiskey and soda on a tray. Barbara rose.

"Shall I pour you a drink?"

"A very little one, please."

She poured him his drink, and once more seated herself at his feet.

"After I graduated from the P. & S.," said Dr. Ferris, "I did ambulance
work for two years, accidents, births, fires. I was ambitious to learn,
and worked myself sick. One morning, after I'd been all night bringing a
most reluctant young Polack into the world, I was called to the house of
a world-famous man in East Thirty-fourth Street. The house was full of
servants mad with grief and fright. The man and his wife