The Master Mind of Mars. Edgar Rice Burroughs

is nothing remarkable about these subjects," said Ras Thavas, after devoting half a day to them. "They bear out what I had already determined years ago in the transplanting of entire brains; that the act of transplanting stimulates growth and activity of brain cells. You will note that in each subject the transplanted portions of the brains are more active--they, in a considerable measure, control. That is why we have the human subject displaying distinctly simian characteristics, while the ape behaves in a more human manner; though if longer and closer observation were desirable you would doubtless find that each reverted at times to his own nature--that is the ape would be more wholly an ape and the human more manlike--but it is not worth the time, of which I have already given too much to a rather unprofitable forenoon. I shall leave you now to restore the subjects to anaesthesia while I return to the laboratories above. The attendants will remain here to assist you, if required."

      The ape, who had been an interested listener, now stepped forward. "Oh, please, I pray you," it mumbled, "do not again condemn me to these horrid shelves. I recall the day that I was brought here securely bound, and though I have no recollection of what has transpired since I can but guess from the appearance of my own skin and that of these dusty corpses that I have lain here long. I beg that you will permit me to live and either restore me to my fellows or allow me to serve in some capacity in this establishment, of which I saw something between the time of my capture and the day that I was carried into this laboratory, bound and helpless, to one of your cold, ersite slabs."

      Ras Thavas made a gesture of impatience. "Nonsense!" he cried. "You are better off here, where you can be preserved in the interests of science."

      "Accede to his request," I begged, "and I will myself take over all responsibility for him while I profit by the study that he will afford me."

      "Do as you are directed," snapped Ras Thavas as he quit the room.

      I shrugged my shoulders. "There is nothing for it, then," I said.

      "I might dispatch you all and escape," mused the ape, aloud, "but you would have helped me. I could not kill one who would have befriended me --yet I shrink from the thought of another death. How long have I lain here?"

      I referred to the history of his case that had been brought and suspended at the head of the table. "Twelve years," I told him.

      "And yet, why not?" he demanded of himself. "This man would slay me-- why should I not slay him first."

      "It would do you no good," I assured him, "for you could never escape. Instead you would be really killed, dying a death from which Ras Thavas would probably think it not worth while ever to recall you, while I, who might find the opportunity at some later date and who have the inclination, would be dead at your hands and thus incapable of saving you."

      I had been speaking in a low voice, close to his ear, that the attendants might not overhear me. The ape listened intently.

      "You will do as you suggest?" he asked.

      "At the first opportunity that presents itself," I assured him.

      "Very well," he said, "I will submit, trusting to you."

      A half hour later both subjects had been returned to their shelves.