over with. And in this case, if it
is ever over with, then it is disproved. And all that time would
one not be tempted to wonder, 'What if, after all, it ends in the
next minute?'"

"I imagine that if we survive the flesh we will receive some sort
of surety," said Vincent.

"But you are not sure either of such surviving or receiving. Now
_we_ have a very close approximation of eternity. When time is
multiplied by itself, and that repeated again and again, does
that not approximate eternity?"

"I don't believe it does. But I will not be of you. One of you
has said that I am too fastidious. So now will you say that
you'll destroy me?"

"No. We will only let you be destroyed. By yourself, you cannot
win the race with destruction."

After that Charles Vincent somehow felt more mature. He knew he
was not really meant to be a six-fingered thing of the pit. He
knew that in some way he would have to pay for every minute and
hour that he had gained. But what he had gained he would use to
the fullest. And whatever could be accomplished by sheer
acquisition of human knowledge, he would try to accomplish.

And he now startled Dr. Mason by the medical knowledge he had
picked up, the while the doctor amused him by the concern he
showed for Vincent. For he felt fine. He was perhaps not as
active as he had been, but that was only because he had become
dubious of aimless activity. He was still the ghost of the
libraries and museums, but was puzzled that the published reports
intimated that an old ghost had replaced a young one.

He now paid his mystic visits to Jennifer Parkey less often. For
he was always dismayed to hear her exclaim to him in his ghostly
form: "Your touch is so changed. You poor thing! Is there
anything at all I can do to help you?"

He decided that somehow she was too immature to understand him,
though he was still fond of her. He transferred his affections to
Mrs. Milly Maltby, a widow at least thirty years his senior. Yet
here it was a sort of girlishness in her that appealed to him.
She was a woman of sharp wit and real affection, and she also
accepted his visitations without fear, following a little initial
panic.

They played games, writing games, for they communicated by
writing. She would scribble a line, then hold the paper up in the
air whence he would cause it to vanish into his sphere. He would
return it in half a minute, or half a second by her time, with
his retort. He had the advantage