Alan spoke in a voice at once impatient and businesslike. "Mr. Baxter, you said before very long the world . . ."
"Humphrey," said Humphrey with a friendly smile.
"Yes Humphrey. But . . . but when?"
"It's a question of finding a new source for the extract," said Humphrey. "Or possibly making it synthetically, though I doubt we'll ever do that. I should say thirty years. With luck twenty."
"Ah!" said Caroline. "I thought you meant now."
"To get this stuff," cried Humphrey, "we have to perform an extremely delicate operation, which unfortunately is fatal to the animal we get it from. So it's terribly difficult."
"What animal?" asked Alan.
"It's quite a common one," said Humphrey. "Man."
"Oh!"
"I think we've discovered another source, but it'll take years to test, and more years to manufacture an adequate supply. That's the point. That's why I swore you to secrecy. All merry hell would break loose on this planet if people knew there was just some in existence, being kept for the privileged few."
"There is some then?" said Caroline.
"The extract has been made," said Humphrey, "in very odd circumstances, about which I'll tell you exactly nothing it has been made three times."
"Three!" exclaimed Alan, as if impressed by the coincidence, because there were three people right there in the room.
"I took one," said Humphrey with a smile.
"And the others?" cried Caroline.
"Fortunately one dose is enough," continued Humphrey. "I don't want to bore you with technicalities, but this is extremely interesting. This secretion actually changes the functions of two distinct glands, neither of them the gland from which we originally extracted it. Now . . ."
"But, Humphrey dear, what happened to the other two doses?"
"Vingleberg took one of them. He's sixty-eight and as ugly as a monkey. He'll stay sixty-eight, and stay ugly, for the next two hundred years."
"For God's sake!" said Alan bitterly.
"And the third?" asked Caroline.
"Caroline, my dear," said Humphrey, "I brought that back with me. I needn't tell you why." As he spoke he unlocked a little drawer in his desk. "Here it is," he said, holding an ordinary phial full of a colourless liquid. "Life, youth, love, for nearly two hundred years! Probably more, because in that time we'll have found out all sorts of things. I nearly poured this away, the day I landed."
"Oh, Humphrey, I . . . what can I say?"
"I don't feel that way any longer," said Humphrey. "In fact, I didn't from the very first moment I met you both. So I'd like you to have this, if you'd care for it. Call it a sort of belated wedding present. Here you are. To both of you."
He held out the phial and, finding two hands extended to receive it, he brought them together. "But you do solemnly swear never to say a word?" he asked.
"I do,"said Caroline.
"I do,"said Alan.
"It sounds quite like the wedding service," said Humphrey with a smile. He laid the phial in their joined hands. "But, of course, it isn't. Well, there it is, for both of you."
"We shall take half each," said Caroline.
"A hundred years apiece!" said Alan.
"Here! Wait a minute! Hold on!" said Humphrey. "I'm afraid I've misled you. I suppose one works on a subject for years, and gets so close to it, one forgets other people don't know the first thing. There was an interesting example of that. . ."
"Why can't we take half each?" said Caroline rather loudly.
"Because, my dear, glands don't understand arithmetic. A half-changed gland won't give you half two hundred years of youth and beauty. Oh, no! Caroline, I remember the very first time I met you I told you what people were like when certain glands were deranged."
"You mean those awful idiots ?"
"Exactly. This is one dose here, and one dose only. It can be drunk in one gulp; it's got a little flavour, but hardly unpleasant. It's simple, but it's dangerous if you fool with it like dynamite. Keep it as a curiosity. It's no use; it isn't pretty; it's a wedding present. At least it's unique."
"Well, thank you, Humphrey. Thank you very, very much."
Thereupon Caroline and Alan went home, where they set this interesting little bottle on the mantelpiece. They then took a long look at it, and a long look at each other. Had it been possible they might have taken a long look in that enormous mirror, the public eye, before which almost in which their lives were lived, and in which they were the perfect lovers.
"You must take it right away," said Alan. "I'll get you a glass of water to drink afterwards."
"I shall do no such thing. Alan, I want you to drink it."
"Darling, come here and look in the glass. Do you see? I'm being perfectly selfish. I want you to be like that forever."
"I can see you, too, Alan. And that's how you've got to be."
Some compliments were exchanged. They were sincere and enthusiastic, and became more so. In the end the little bottle was entirely forgotten. But the next morning it was still there.
Alan and Caroline were as determined as ever, each that the other should drink the precious potion. It is impossible to say exactly what it was in their protestations that suggested that each of them may have thought a little about it during the night.
"We can't spend the rest of our lives doing a sort of 'After you, Alphonse,'" said Caroline. "I swear to you; I cross my heart and hope to die I want you to take it. Now please do."
"Get this straight once and for all," said Alan. "You're going to take it, and I'm not. I'm going to be like that fellow what's his name who fell in love with you know the goddess."
"But darling, think of your overhead smash!"
"What's wrong with it? Are you trying to tell me it's not holding up?"
"Of course not. It's wonderful how it holds up. Everyone says so. But you'll be up against that awful boy from California in August, you know."
"I can take care of that pip-squeak without any monkey gland," said Alan. "I must say I'm rather suprised you think I can't."
"I don't think you can't, "said Caroline. "But . . ."
"Oh, there's a 'but' to it!"
"But you are six years older than I am."
"Oh, listen! A man's got ten years at least on a woman."
"Not every woman. It's true some women like going around with men old enough to be their fathers." She studied him thoughtfully. "I think you'll look awfully distinguished with grey hair."
Alan looked unhappily into the mirror. Then he looked at Caroline. "I can't imagine you with grey hair. So, you see, if I did drink it, just to please you . . ."
"I wish you would," cried Caroline, whose basic goodness and kindness are a matter of record. "Alan, I won't see you get old, and ugly, and ill . . . and die. I'd rather it was me. Truly I would. Rather than have you die and be left without you."
"And that goes for me," said Alan, with just as much emphasis, but yet in a way that caused her to look at him searchingly.
"But you'd love me?" she asked, "even if I did get old? Wouldn't you?" Then, giving him no time at alclass="underline" "Or would you?"
"Carrie, you know I would."
"No, you wouldn't. But I would you."
"If that's what you think," said Alan, "you'd better take it yourself. It's obvious. Go on take it. And let me get old."
"I wish Humphrey had never given us the wretched stuff!" cried Caroline. "Let's pour it down the sink. Come on! Right now!"
"Are you crazy?" cried Alan, snatching the phial from her hand. "The only bottle in the whole world! From what Baxter said, a man died for the sake of what's in that bottle."
"And he'd be awfully hurt if we threw it away," murmured Caroline.
"To hell with him," said Alan. "But after all it's a wedding present."
So they left it right there on the mantelpiece, which is a good place for a wedding present, and their wonderful life went on.