A YARD OF JUNGLE «61 



disintegrated and returned to the elements, these 

 shards of death were as new. 



And the smell of the mold, keen and strong as 

 it came to my nostrils an inch away — it was pun- 

 gent, rich, woody. It hinted of the age-old 

 dissolution, century after century, which had 

 been going on. Leaves had fallen, not in a sud- 

 den autumnal downpour, but in a never-ending 

 drift, day after day, month after month. With 

 a daily rain for moisture, with a temperature 

 of three figures, for the quicker increase of bac- 

 teria, and an excess of humidity to foster quick 

 decay, the jungle floor was indeed a laboratory 

 of vital work — where only analytic chemistry 

 was allowed full sway, and the mystery of syn- 

 thetic life was ever handicapped, and ever a 

 mystery. 



Before the vessel docked I had completed my 

 task and had secured over five hundred creatures 

 of this lesser cosmos. At least twice as many 

 remained, but when I made my calculations I 

 estimated that the mold had sheltered only a 

 thousand organisms plainly visible to the eye. 



And when I had corked my last vial and the 

 steward had removed the last pile of shredded 

 debris, I leaned back and thought of the thousand 



