t
hatred--"

"It's like that book in the Bible where everybody begat everybody else,"
said Mildred seriously.

At first I thought she had made an apt and clever remark; but on thinking
it over I couldn't quite see its relevancy. I turned and looked into her
sweet face. Her eyes were dancing with brilliancy and her sensitive lips
quivered. I feared, she was near to tears from the reaction of the shock.
Had Jones not been walking with us--but let that go, too.

We were now entering the Administration Building, almost running; and
as soon as we came to the closed door of Dr. Quint's room, I could hear
a commotion inside--desk drawers being pulled out and their contents
dumped, curtains being jerked from their rings, an unmistakable sound
indicating the ripping up of a carpet--and through all this din the
agitated scuffle of footsteps.

I rapped on the door. No notice taken. I rapped and knocked and called in
a low, distinct voice.

Suddenly I recollected I had a general pass-key on my ring which unlocked
any door in the building. I nodded to Jones and to Mildred to stand
aside, then, gently fitting the key, I suddenly pushed out the key which
remained on the inside, turned the lock, and flung open the door.

A terrible sight presented itself: Dr. Quint, hair on end, both mustaches
pulled out, shirt, cuffs, and white waistcoat smeared with blood, knelt
amid the general wreckage on the floor, in the act of ripping up the
carpet.

"Doctor!" I cried in a trembling voice. "What have you done to Professor
Boomly?"

He paused in his carpet ripping and looked around at us with a terrifying
laugh.

"I've settled _him_!" he said. "If you don't want to get all over dust
you'd better keep out--"

"Quint!" I cried. "Are you crazy?"

"Pretty nearly. Let me alone--"

"Where is Boomly!" I demanded in a tragic voice. "Where is your old
friend, Billy Boomly? Where is he, Quint? And what does _that_ mean--that
pool of blood on the floor? Whose is it?"

"It's Bill's," said Quint, coolly ripping up another breadth of carpet
and peering under it.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Do you admit that?"

"Certainly I admit it. I told him I'd terminate him if he meddled with my
Silver Moon eggs."

"You mean to say that you shed blood--the blood of your old
friend--merely because he meddled with a miserable batch of butterfly's
eggs?" I asked, astounded.

"I certainly did shed his blood for just that particular thing! And
listen; you're