Mr. Danner’s thoughts turned to Professor Mudge, whose barren pate showed above the congregation a few rows ahead of him. There, he said to himself, sat a stubborn and unenlightened man. And so, when the weekly tyranny of church was ended, he asked Mudge to dinner. That he accomplished by an argument with his wife, audible the length of the aisle.

They walked to the Danner residence. Mrs. Danner changed her clothes hurriedly, basted the roast, made milk sauce for the string beans, and set three places. They went into the dining-room. Danner carved, the home-made mint jelly was passed, the bread, the butter, the gravy; and Mrs. Danner dropped out of the conversation, after guying her husband on his lack of skill at his task of carving.

Mudge opened with the usual comment. “Well, Abednego, how are the blood-stream radicals progressing?”

His host chuckled. “Excellently, thanks. Some day I’ll be ready to jolt you hidebound biologists into your senses.”

Mudge’s left eyebrow lifted. “So? Still the same thing, I take it? Still believe that chemistry controls human destiny?”

“Almost ready to demonstrate it,” Danner replied.

“Along what lines?”

“Muscular strength and the nervous discharge of energy.”

Mudge slapped his thigh. “Ho ho! Nervous discharge of energy. You assume the human body to be a voltaic pile, eh? That’s good. I’ll have to tell Gropper. He’ll enjoy it.”

Danner, in some embarrassment, gulped a huge mouthful of meat. “Why not?” he said. “Look at the insects—the ants. Strength a hundred times our own. An ant can carry a large spider—yet an ant is tissue and fiber, like a man. If a man could be given the same sinews—he could walk off with his own house.”

“Ha ha! There’s a good one. Maybe you’ll do it, Abednego.”

“Possibly, possibly.”

“And you would make a splendid piano-mover.”

“Pianos! Pooh! Consider the grasshoppers. Make a man as strong as a grasshopper—and he’ll be able to leap over a church. I tell you, there is something that determines the quality of every muscle and nerve. Find it—transplant it—and you have the solution.”

Mirth overtook Professor Mudge in a series of paroxysms from which he emerged rubicund and witty. “Probably your grasshopper man will look like a grasshopper—more insect than man. At least, Danner, you have imagination.”

“Few people have,” Danner said, and considered that he had acquitted himself.

His wife interrupted at that point. “I think this nonsense has gone far enough. It is wicked to tamper with God’s creatures. It is wicked to discuss such matters—especially on the Sabbath. Abednego, I wish you would give up your work in the laboratory.”

Danner’s cranium was overlarge and his neck small; but he stiffened it to hold himself in a posture of dignity. “Never.”