“Righto! I never can remember it. Anyhow, Mr. Ritsky, tell him your story and ask him all the questions you want to. He’s headquarters on this stuff.”
Ritsky studied his clawlike hands for a moment, clasping and unclasping the bony fingers. Suddenly he looked up.
“Do animals have immortal souls?” he asked, anxiously.
“I’m afraid you have sadly overrated my ability as a recorder of scientific facts,” replied the doctor, smiling slightly. “Frankly, I do not know. I don’t believe anyone knows. Most people think they haven’t, and I incline toward that belief.”
“Then such a thing as a ghost of a—a hound could not be?”
“I would not say that. Nothing is impossible. There are undoubtedly more things in heaven and earth, as Shakespeare said, than we have dreamed of in our philosophy. However, I would consider a materialization of the disembodied spirit of a canine, or any of the other lower animals, as highly improbable.”
“But if you saw one with your own eyes—”
“I should probably be inclined to doubt the evidence of my senses. Have you seen one?”
“Have I seen one?” groaned Ritsky. “Good Lord, man, I’d give every cent I own to be rid of that thing! For two years it’s turned my nights into hell! From a perfectly healthy, normal human being I’ve been reduced to a physical wreck. Sometimes I think my reason is slipping. The thing will either kill me or drive me mad if it is not stopped.”
He buried his face in his hands.