“But you can’t do it unless I carry you,” said the voice.
This was only too true, as the corpuscle was well aware.
“I must get this oxygen to the tissues,” he reflected. “It will not keep much longer, and there will be no market for it. It is of no use to me, and I greatly need some inorganic salts.” So, parting with another atom of oxygen, he was taken through the aorta, and landed in one of the branching arteries that would carry him to the stomach. The branch road, too, collected of him a quota of oxygen.
As he was hurrying along he found himself side by side with another corpuscle, a native, whom he engaged in conversation.
“What do all these fellows want of so much oxygen?” he asked. “If the other corpuscles pay it over at the same rate I have, some one must get a good deal more than he can possibly use.”
“Why,” said the other, “it is the great medium of exchange in the organism, and of course we all want as much as we can get. They re-invest it, turn it over, double it and quadruple it.”
“But is there more in the organism on that account?”
“No, but they have more, don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see,” was the reply, “but I cannot understand what good it does them. The organism must suffer if its supply is diverted. And do not they suffer with the whole body?”
“Oh, I suppose so, but then, suffering is the common lot of the race. It is good discipline for us, and prepares us for the better life hereafter.”