on of coils with carbon cores,
and the magnet becomes charged with soulless life. I reverse the
stream--what was positive now is negative, and the same magnet will
absorb life from a living being to an extent only to be measured by
thousands of millions."

"Then, what effect is produced on the body you pump the life from?"

"Death."

"And what becomes of the soul?"

"I don't quite know. I fancy, however, that the magnet absorbs that
too."

"Can it give it back?"

"Certainly; otherwise my life-magnet would belie its name, and be
simply an ingenious and expensive instrument of death. By reversing
the conditions, I can restore both soul and life to the body from
which I drew them, or to another body, even after the lapse of several
days."

"Have you ever done so?"

"I have."

Ronald looked reflectively downward to his boot-toe, but seemed to
find nothing there--except a boot-toe.

"I say, my friend," he spoke at last, "haven't you got a pin you can
stick in me? I'd like to know if I'm dreaming."

"I can convince you better than by pins," replied Herr Lebensfunke.
"Let me see that hand you hide so carefully."

Ronald Wyde slowly drew it from his pocket, as reluctantly as though
it were a grudged charity dole, and extended it to the old man. Its
little finger was gone.

"A defect that I am foolishly sensitive about," said he. "A childish
freak--playing with edged tools, you know. A boy-playmate chopped it
off by accident: I cut his head open with his own hatchet, and made an
idiot of him for life--that's all."

"I could do this," said Herr Lebensfunke, pausing on each word as if
it were somewhat heavy, and had to be lifted out of his cramped chest
by force; "I could draw your entity into that magnet, leaving you
side by side with this corpse. I could dissect a finger from that
same corpse, attach it to your own dead hand by a little of that
palpitating life-mass you have seen, pass an electric stream through
it, and a junction would be effected in three or four days. I could
then restore you to existence, whole, and not maimed as now."

"I don't quite like the idea of dying, even for a day," answered Wyde.
"Couldn't you contrive to lend me a body while you are mending my
own?"

"You can take that one, if you like."

Ronald Wyde looked once more at the sodden features of the corpse, and
smiled lugubriously.

"A mighty shabby old customer," he said, "and I doubt if I could feel
at home in his skin; b