"I'd rather die first!"
Gran'pa glanced at me, spluttered, and then strode furiously away.
But I knew already that Sally was winning. Gran'pa's bark was always worse immediately before he—didn't bite. . . .
The following morning he said:
"You're right, George! You always are, confound you! We're wasting time out here and the sooner we go home the better!"
Having unburdened himself thus, he went to the other extreme and couldn't complete our preparations for the departure quickly enough.
Excited at the prospect of returning to their friends, and possibly to fame, the rejuvenated also commenced hustling. But the unlucky ones—artificially fed on potashes, and apparently incapable of sustained effort—became vindictive and irritable. They accused us of backsliding, breach of faith, and cowardice.
I don't know what rash promises Gran'pa had made during the last few weeks, but I had the suspicion that he must have given the old people some hope of rejuvenation in the near future.
On the morning of our departure he received three anonymous and threatening letters, which made him more determined than ever!
"I will not be intimidated!" he stormed. "I'm going home, even if it's my corpse that has to be taken on board. They'd merely be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. . . ."