“John,” exclaimed the doctor, startled and offended by the question.
“When a man dies,” continued John earnestly, “more than the throbbing of his pulse leaves him. The thing we call a soul, whatever it may be, wherever it may be, goes out with his life, out of his body to a life everlasting. In God’s name, how dare you talk of bringing that empty shell back into the living world?”
“I have lived for over twenty years in the dissecting room,” remarked Dr. Crossett, with rather a contemptuous smile. “I know the human body. They differ very little, each organ has its place, all is complete—I have not found a soul.”
“We do not think alike there, Paul,” said Dr. Barnhelm gravely. “There is something, a soul, an intelligence, call it what you will, but it is not tangible, and it is divine! I mean no sacrilege. Why, this theory of mine, the truth of which I am prepared to prove, has been my prayer, and now it has been granted. It is for the good of humanity.”
“I don’t like it,” replied John nervously. “You know best, I suppose, and I am going to try to take your word for it, but I don’t like it. If you don’t mind, I’ll go and meet Lola. It may be all right, I suppose it is, if you say so, but it gives me the fidgets.”
He left the room as he spoke, and as he closed the door and started down the stairs he heard them laughing together.
“He is not a physician,” said Dr. Crossett as soon as John was out of hearing.
“No,” replied Dr. Barnhelm. “He is a bank clerk.”
“Bank clerk! La! Then why try to make him understand? Come, tell me all about this,” and he looked critically at the apparatus before him.
“It is the theory,” began the Doctor, “of a tremendously interrupted electrical current applied to the heart. The high frequency in itself is not new.”