Then he suddenly disclosed his scheme in all its fascinating glory. It staggered me—at first by its utter absurdity; then by its alarming possibility; and, finally, by its sheer plausibility. It was gigantic, gruesome, grotesque; and yet, to hear Gran'pa talk, it was so transparently simple that it made me wonder why no one had thought of it before.
"Ever since these new glands have been in full working order," he said, "I can't help feeling that others ought to be given an opportunity of regaining their youth. There must be hundreds of old men like myself who are still looking backwards in the way I used to: Ah! if only I had my life to live over again! It's the saddest, the most wistful cry in the world, George—that 'might-have-been!' You can't appreciate it at your age, with your eyes on the future. But picture yourself when you are seventy—seventy-five—eighty—always gazing backwards. There's no tragedy in life until you're old—and then it's the eternal tragedy of that might-have-been! I've lived through it all. I know. . . . The time I must have spent just sitting . . . and thinking. . . . Always the same refrain. Might have been! . . . Might have been! . . ."
His gaze was directed towards the fire now—that strange picture-factory of the past and the future—and I could see that he was very deeply moved.
"When I spoke of treasure hunting just now you probably thought of hidden chests of jewels and coins, of tattered and torn scraps of paper with complicated directions and cabalistic signs written on them—all that paraphernalia of fictitious adventure. . . . As if gold were the most important thing in life!"
"It's handy at times," I commented.
"Would my fortune be of any value to me if I were dead?"
"No! . . . I believe that it serves no useful purpose in the next world."
He chuckled to himself. "So you come to the basic fact that the greatest 'treasure' I've found so far has been . . ."
"By Jove!" I exclaimed. "You mean Glands!"
"I do! I'm going gland-hunting!"