"For which of these names do you suggest I should substitute yours?" he asked quietly.
It was a poser worthy of Solomon. It was unanswerable.
"Now," said Gran'pa, "I should be glad if the twenty-one winners would accompany Dr. Martin to his consulting room. It is essential that the operation should take place either this evening or to-morrow. The doctor will decide which of you are composed enough to undergo the treatment now. I need hardly say that the operation is a fairly simple one, but as it will involve the administration of an anæsthetic it is best to take elementary precautions. I wish you the best of luck, a speedy recovery—and complete youth, gentlemen."
They greeted his good wishes in the usual way, and then the gymnasium slowly began to empty itself.
One would have thought that no further problems could possibly be presented to Gran'pa for solution. But difficulties dogged our footsteps to the end.
The last man was on the point of leaving the room when he suddenly drew back, closed the door on the retiring crowd and strode over to the platform.
"A few minutes ago," he explained briefly, "Colonel Wilkins offered me five thousand dollars for my interest in the glands. I've decided to close with him."
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "We cannot permit the question of money to enter into a matter of this kind. You were all chosen irrespective of position, wealth or influence, and it would be establishing a vicious and dangerous precedent to allow any buying and selling of the glands. We should have the whole thing degenerate into a sort of auction sale in no time. . . . Don't you agree with me, George?"
"Most emphatically," I said. "It would be introducing terrible temptations to the poorer members of the club."
"Quite so! Youth—and life—are much too precious to be bartered for mere money. Suppose we had started selling the glands. . . . Go to Dr. Martin at once, sir, and thank your lucky stars you have men of principle as your advisers and leaders."