phrase was a mere first cry of astonishment from him. He called it the
Food of the Gods, in his enthusiasm and for an hour or so at the most
altogether. After that he decided he was being absurd. When he first
thought of the thing he saw, as it were, a vista of enormous
possibilities--literally enormous possibilities; but upon this dazzling
vista, after one stare of amazement, he resolutely shut his eyes, even
as a conscientious "scientist" should. After that, the Food of the Gods
sounded blatant to the pitch of indecency. He was surprised he had used
the expression. Yet for all that something of that clear-eyed moment
hung about him and broke out ever and again....

"Really, you know," he said, rubbing his hands together and laughing
nervously, "it has more than a theoretical interest.

"For example," he confided, bringing his face close to the Professor's
and dropping to an undertone, "it would perhaps, if suitably handled,
_sell_....

"Precisely," he said, walking away,--"as a Food. Or at least a food
ingredient.

"Assuming of course that it is palatable. A thing we cannot know till we
have prepared it."

He turned upon the hearthrug, and studied the carefully designed slits
upon his cloth shoes.

"Name?" he said, looking up in response to an inquiry. "For my part I
incline to the good old classical allusion. It--it makes Science res--.
Gives it a touch of old-fashioned dignity. I have been thinking ... I