Classic Audiobook Collection - Be Young Again by Murray Leinster ~ Full Audiobook [scifi]

Episode Date: February 21, 2025

Be Young Again by Murray Leinster audiobook. Genre: scifi In Be Young Again!, Murray Leinster blends a fast-talking con game with a startling scientific gamble when a streetwise teenage narrator gets pulled into one of old Jode's biggest schemes yet. Jode, a seasoned swindler with a taste for big scores and bigger risks, teams up with the cash-strapped Professor Henry Barr, who claims to have recreated an ancient alchemical process that produces an actual Elixir of Youth. Their target is Mr. Vachti, an aging bootleg king with money, muscle, and a hobby of collecting proof that every confidence trick can be punished. If the elixir is fake, Vachti wants the satisfaction of watching the pitchmen go down. If it is real, he wants the chance to buy back his future. As the trio circles each other in wary negotiations, the narrator is sent to handle the practical details and verify what the professor can really do, setting off a chain of tests, close calls, and escalating pressure. With danger tightening by the hour, the story becomes a lively chase through greed, hope, and the high price of cheating time. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:14:19) Chapter 02 (00:33:53) Chapter 03 (00:47:52) Chapter 04 (01:01:20) Chapter 05 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Be Young Again by Murray Leinster, Chapter 1. Just about every confidence gag had been tried on old Vachti, except the elixir of youth. Only this was different. Professor Barr had a unique pitch on it, but Buck had the real goods. Me, and a guy named Hermes Triesma Justice, take care of the situation when Jody gets in a very tight place. This guy tries Majestis is anyways a thousand years old, if he's alive anywhere, and I'll I am 16, but we cooperate. The tight place is caused by Professor Henry Barr,

who urgent regrets the matter later on, and by Mr. Vachti, who is an elderly bootleger baron in the dear dead days. He still has bodyguards hanging around him bloodthirsty. If you think an old guy like Mr. Vachti can't figure in a tight place, he's got some tough-looking goons around and a yacht and a private island estate and other trimmings, All I got to say is you never met Mr. Vachdi.

Old Jody gets into it because he thinks it will top off his career. Pride. He is the party who once worked a handkerchief switch on Ma' Mandelbaum, who I understand was the biggest lady fence in the world in her day, and wasn't to be swindled by an amateur. He also once sells a gold brick to the United States Mint in Denver, Colorado. And once he persuades the point. police department of a certain fair city that he is a fed man with a tip-off on a bank robbery that

is going to take place. He has every cop in town ambushed around that bank that night, while he lurks inside with a Tommy gun waiting for the bold bad burglars that never arrive. He acts much embarrassed next morning. But a couple of days later, the liquid assets of the bank turn up in the mail addressed to him, because he has spent those long hours packing them neat in Manila envelopes. and mailing him in the mail slot that is in the bank for the convenience of depositors. But still, Jody feels that taken Mr. Vachdi over the hurdles will crown his career. Mr. Vachti was a very big shot once, when his business staff included not only income taxmen and Tommy Gun experts, but also gentlemen who specialize in putting people in barrels of concrete and dumping them in the Chicago River.

I meet old Jody when I am thumb on a ride towards the coast. I have beat it from what you might call home after my old man works me over with a chair for spending money I earn on a gas engine for a model aeroplane, instead of giving it to him to get drunk on. I am not making out so good at hitchhiking, because, being 16 and not looking any older, I have to dodge to an officer's everywhere. But I get by. I fix a car radio for a guy at a filling station while old Jody is having his gas tank filled up, and the guy says, swell and gives me half a bus. buck. The job I'd done would have cost him 1260 at a regular repair shop. I says, I could do with a lift to Phoenix, but the guy isn't going that way. Then old Jody Weez's cordial that he is, so I climb in his car. He is fat and old and has dangling red wattles,

and he looks like he's made of money and hasn't a care in the world. Outside of having the cops of 16 or 18 states, passionate interested in his whereabouts, he doesn't have no worries, and looking like a million dollars is his business. But I don't know that then. He talks to me cordial, and we get on to science, a subject in which he is interested but don't know beans about. With him asking questions, grunt and respectful, I tell him the theoretic perfect fuel for spaceships and the difference between a rocket and a jet and what the Doppler effect is, and what's the difference between Oak Ridge and Hansford, Washington?

I'm not showing off, you know. I explain that I read a lot of science magazines, and he ought to try them, special to science fiction ones. And I tell him I'm heading for the coast to get a job in a radio repair shop, like I had back home after school and Saturdays, and I'm going to save up and have a private experimental laboratory. I got some ideas, science fiction ideas, that I think I can make workout actual.

old Jody gets thoughtful. Later on, when I know him better, I will know what that means. Right then, though, when he beams and says he would like to play a joke on a friend, and I seem a handy young man with tools, I'd just say I'm honest that I'm pretty fair. He makes me a proposition. He'll stake me to grub and hotel expenses and a suit of clothes and say I'm his nephew.

If I'll fix him a trick television cabinet with a movie sound projector, inside so he can fool a friend into thinking he's got a long-distance receiver that'll pick up from anywhere. I can do that with my hands tied behind my back. I take him up quick. I improve the idea. I suggest color film, which will look like three-color television in action. Mr. Vatchty don't have anything to do with this deal. Neither does the prof, who at that time is fumbling happy with a swell idea that he doesn't know how good it is. This is Phoenix, Arizona. So old Jody buys the stuff I say is needed. He acts like he is made of money,

and I put it together in the hotel room he gets for me next to his. It's a swell hotel, the best in town, and I eat fancy grub that I don't know the names of, being you have to order it in French. When the job's finished, I figure on thumbing my way further, but old Jody says perish the thought. He will put me on salary as his technical assistant. He waddles around town, wheezing and busy, while I catch up on my side's reading.

I'm knee-deep in magazines when he comes tiptoeing into the room and says joyous that his joke worked, and he's beaten it before his friend gets wise. So we light out, and he chuckles happy all the way up to Sun Valley, which is considerable of a ride, where he says he would like to rest a few days. When I get to know him better, I find out that he shows what was apparently three-consum, color television to some sharp businessmen in Phoenix, they get together and pull a fast business deal on him and swindle him excessive by paying him only $20,000 for all rights in an epoch-making discovery, which, when they find out they've been stuck, they can't say a word, because their

methods are at least unethical, if not illegal. Old Jody soaks up sun and fancier grub than ever at Sun Valley, which is in a very swank place indeed, but I get right. restless. Then one day, he comes in chuckling and says that he will have great fun with his friend, the president of Western power, if I can contrive something that looks like it is a receiver of beamed or wireless power. And can it be done? I says it'll be phony, but if you want to laugh, okay. So I make us out with a couple of diatron tubes and this and that, and it looks just like a science fiction illustration. But the power it delivers so impressive comes from story. its batteries built into the workbench it's built on.

I would like to see him play his joke, but he says no. I sneak a look in the window anyhow, and I get the picture. I don't hear the actual dealing, but Western power plays him plenty for full ownership of the gadget, with the agreement that they are going to smash it right where it sets and not try to have bad dreams about what it would do to their business. We leave Sun Valley with old Jody on top of the world and beaming at me affectionate. I've got wise now, and I talk to him stern. He is upset, but he tells me the story of his life.

He gets proud of it as he goes along, with all about how he pulls the handkerchief switch on Mom Andalbaum and the gold brick and the Denver mint and all the rest. It is a very adventurous career he describes, and it even has glamour. Then he promises that a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of him. If I stay on as his technical assistant, I can have a private experimental laboratory of my own, and he will leave me in the clear in all dealings.

So I settle down to planning what I'm going to have and how I'm going to use it. I expect to set up my laboratory in Las Lagunas, where we are heading. Las Lagunas is another swing place, with all the bills of fare and French and the prices looking like Army-Navy estimates. I send for lab supply catalogs and start hunting for a place to set up shop. Then Jody, who has been circulating social, wheeze and happy and contagious, says apprehensive that I better not plan on the lab here, because we may have to move. I ask why.

He says he has met Mr. Vachdi, and to top off his career, he's got an ambition to pull over a fast one on him. After that, he says, he will retire and devote the rest of his life to supervising my education. I am not keen on having my education supervised. But Jody explains that Mr. Vachdi is the one guy who has put it over on everybody, and nobody has ever put anything over on him. He is famous from Prohibition Days. He even beats the income tax rap the feds try to pin on him when they despair of linking him with missing persons they think are in barrels of concrete

at the bottom of the Chicago River. Mr. Vachty is completely surrounded by lawyers and personal physicians. He is 70 and keeps his old bodyguards out of sentiment, wears dark spectacles and has a most unpleasant hobby. He owns a yacht, an island, and several million dollars, but his hobby is getting people to try to swindle him and then sending them to jail. He is very respectable now, says Jody,

and a good many artistic swindlers have worked on him, but he does not appreciate their artistry. It is a challenge, says old Jody. It will be something to remember in his declining years, Jody says if he nicks Mr. Vachti for a roll and gets away with it. If I will postpone my laboratory until he is through with Mr. Vachti, he will buy me an 18-foot sailboat that I can have personal, and I can loaf around in it while business goes on.

I make the deal. The price of my laboratory is climbing as I think of more things I would like to have. I figure if Jody gets rich enough, maybe I can nick him for a small-sized cyclotron and have some fun. Meanwhile, a sailboat won't be bad. I get it. I do have fun. I have never heard of Hermes Trismagestis.

I have never heard of Paracelsus, or Dr. D. or Dr. Fossus, or Nicholas Flammell, or any of those guys. I have never heard of Professor Henry Barr. But I learned to sail my boat pretty good, and I'm happy planning my laboratory. But old Jody loses his carefree look. He gets absent-minded and fretful. One day, he confides his woes to me. I am afraid, he wheezes pathetic, that I am losing my grip, Buck.

I know Mr. Vachdy well. We are on confidential terms. He thinks I'm a retired banker, and he has confided to me all about his hobby and tells me with grim amusement about the various sucker-bates he has been invited to fall for. And I cannot contrive a scheme to offer him. Every type of enterprise the mind of man can invent has been tried on him.

The most refined of financial shenanigans have failed. He's on to everything. I say, yeah? I would like to be helpful. That laboratory is going to cost money. An electron telescope ain't cheap. I need for Jody to be prosperous to keep his promise. He has opened his files to me, said Jody, wrinkling up his fat face like a baby trying not to cry.

all the games he has pretended to fall for with the news clippings of the trials and sentencing of the operators. He even has the records of the parole board hearings on them and how he has protested the freeing of such criminals. That file is most informative. There are a couple of twists that even I have never heard of before. The greatest artists in the business have worked on him, Buck. It would be an artistic triumph to dittle him. Indeed, I could not rest easy in my grave without having a try at him. I bet, I says, that if he ever does fall, it'll be for something the three-year-old would laugh at.

I don't know why I say it, but Jody's mouth drops open. He blinks at me, and suddenly he begins to wee's happy again. Genius, he says. That's the trick. Now I start hunting for the oldest, staleest, most impossible. trick in the world. Something so old and phony, nobody would think of trying it. I think, Buck, that as my technical assistant, you show genius. He struts out a fat little guy with sporty clothes who looks like a retired banker without

a worry in the world. And around this time, a new crop of science magazines appears on the newsstands. I buy the lot of them and loaf around in my sailboat, reading them and making plans. End of chapter one. Chapter 2 of Be Young Again by Murray Leinster. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Be Young Again by Murray Leinster, chapter 2. One week passes and two. Then Jody tells me he wants me to have dinner formal

with a Professor Henry Barr whom he has contacted because he's got a hunch that maybe the professor has the scheme he is looking for. The prof had an advertisement in the paper. It reads, I have made an unconventional scientific discovery that I do not know how to develop commercially. An entrepreneur or financial advisor with some money is sought.

Address biologist, box 711, care this paper. It's crude, says Jody, helpful. It wouldn't get a nibble from real money. All he could hope for would be a sure-thing player or legal counselor trying for a long-shot cut. I have invited him to dinner. In prosperous surroundings, he will be excited and probably spill his hand.

You will pass on the plausibility of his scientific discovery. It is one of the things I pay you for. Well, I play up. I am passing for Jody's nephew in the very swank surroundings of Las Lagunas, where Jody's and my hotel suite cost more money per day than I ever hope to make a week. I prefer hanging around in my sailboat, reading science fiction, and plan in my laboratory,

but I get combed up and put on a snazzy suit Jody has bought me, we meet this prof, and Jody waddles grand into the hotel dining room. They have cocktails, and I have a Coke, and then the business starts. Old Jody eats his oysters, noisy and with gusto, and wipes his mouth. I was much interested in your advertisement, Professor Barr. he weezes. It is such a beautiful approach. However, I will bet cash money

that you didn't get a single answer besides mine worth your talents. True, admits the prof. He is a dignified but seedy-looking guy with long white whiskers. He strokes them reflective. I had a number of replies,

but few of them suggested financial responsibility. The waiter serves the soup. Jody sniffs at it and beams. The chef here, he says, make soup which is almost music. What have you got, Professor? The prof begins the spiel, dignified. Why, he says profound, I had better explain that I was professor of medieval history at Perkins

College for 35 years. I was released because a wealthy alumnus offered to add to the endowment of a son-in-law of his was taken on the faculty in his habit of getting drunk frequently. was ignored. I had to be released so the college could take advantage of the offer. Hmm, says Jody, my sympathies, sir. I do not blame them, says the prof, resigned, but I shall never again practice teaching as a profession. The point is that in my studies of medieval history, I naturally came across many mentions of alchemy. The alchemists, you are doubtless aware, search for the philosopher's stone to turn base metal into gold, for an alchahest to dissolve all known substances,

and they searched for the elixir of youth. I planned to write a scholarly treatise on the contributions of alchemy, gunpowder, metallic tinctures in medicine, sulfuric acid, and all the foundations of chemistry. But as I studied the source material, I found the reports of their work singularly convincing. looks at me. I nod. Something like this has to be the truth. Sure. Astronomy started with fortune-telling. Chemistry must have had as crazy a beginning. I nod emphatic. It has been pointed out, says the profound, that if one sat a million monkeys at a million typewriters and kept them pounding away at random, by the mere operation of the laws of chance, one of those monkeys would ultimately rewrite the Smith report on atomic energy.

And it is easy to calculate that during the Middle Ages there were enough alchemists making experiments practically at random to produce outstanding discoveries by sheer hap and gent. Some of these discoveries we know,

I've mentioned them, but I have proof that they made others. Old Jody leans back in his chair. This is the oldest of all-known swindles, It has worn out long before the first gold brick is made. Old Jody is astounded at his good fortune. This is perfect for Mr. Vachti,

who has never been put through the ringer by any person whatsoever. Hmm, says old Jody. Pray, go on, sir. Some three years back, says the prof, I took the money I had intended to use for my summer's abstinence and duplicated the alchemical process described by Dr. D for the production of the alchahest, the universal solvent. It began with Icelandic spar or calcium fluoride. The intervening processes were absurd,

but as a result I achieved a liquid which turned out to be hydrofluoric acid, the acid, which is now used for etching glass, and which is so nearly a universal solvent that it can be retained in fluorocarbon plastic bottles. I perk up. my ears. Old Jody sees my face. He grunts, Interesting. Pray continue. The waiter serves some beef of Marichelle Chateaubriand. Jody drools. He begins to stoke himself steadily. I had proved one alchemical discovery true, said the prof.

The philosopher's stone. Old Jody chokes. He says paint. Not a process to make gold, please, prize. The philosopher's stone, said the prof's turn, may have been achieved, but when metals are transmuted, the energy release is tremendous. It is atomic energy. When uranium is changed into boron and such, an atomic bomb is the result. The manufacturer of gold would involve highly lethal radiation in vast quantities. I did not attempt to duplicate the philosopher's stone. That's better. said Jody relieved. But, says the prof, I did, at great and crippling expense to myself, repeat Hermes-Trys' mageastas' process for making the elixir of youth, and it worked.

Old Jody looks, blinks, and then he begins to kind of glow with happiness inside and out. This is the oldest swindle on earth. It goes back to before history. It is so cold and so worn out that it is undoubtedly the only one that ain't been tried on Mr. Vatchty. And for a bloodthirsty old guy, now gloomily hanging on around 70, it is the one bait that he would like to believe in if he could. Remarkable, weezes Jody.

You have experimental evidence, of course. I beggared myself procuring the material. says the prof apologetic. Modern chemicals will not work. One must use the impure, the sometimes ridiculous chemicals of the ancients. It is possible that the very impurities are the essential ingredients. But at the cost of all my savings, I made 10 cubic centimeters of yellow fluid. I tried a bit of it on an ancient rat from the biology department at Perkins. It worked too well, much too well. so I was forced to experiment for the proper dosage. One cubic centimeter of the yellow fluid, the elixir it developed,

would restore a 20-pound animal to early maturity. Seven to 10 centimeters would be required for an adult human being. But I had to spend eight cubic centimeters to verify this fact in my experiments on small animals. I only have two centimeters left. But I do have a number. of very elderly rats at my dwelling. I will let you choose any one of them. I will administer the elixir

and allow you to take the animal away and care for it. In three days, it'll be a young rat again. Such evidence would be unquestionable, beams Jody. How much? A, says the prof, startled. You need the elixir yourself, said Jody, grunting amiable. You're broke.

If someone will finance you. the making of an adequate supply for you, you will make enough for him too. You see, I'm saving you the trouble of making the pitch. And I say again, how much? The prof's eyes gleam. He wets his lips. Jody says confidential. I am a customer. I can fetch in another, a very rich man. If I finance the operation myself, will you split with me what I get out of him? Your split will be. You split will be in five figures, maybe more. I, when I am a young man again, admits the prof, it would be a very good idea to have some capital

with which to start life anew. Yes, I will agree to that. Jody asks questions fast and peels off century notes like he was dealing a hand for setback. He is hooked, he is beaming. All during the rest of dinner he weezes and snorts how, happy to himself. After the prof has gone away, old Jody says scornful that he is strictly a small-time operator, and he doubts if he ever took over a customer for as much as a grand in all his life.

But he figures Prof is right for plenty more than this first installment, which is what Jody wants. Up in our rooms, he is still grinning with all his chins and waddles. A lovely business, eh, Buck? Convincing, too. Can't you picture how Vatchee will fall for this elixir of youth proposition, he'll see himself young, surrounded by pretty girls. I know if a couple of science fiction writers could have done it better, I say detached, but it's good enough. It would take a good man to find a hole in that theory. In fact, it probably work, huh? said Jody. It would probably work, I repeat, firm. That catalyst stuff is good reasoning. I knew a fellow that got fired from a silver-plating plant, and he took a fire

and filed off some powdered bakelight into each one of the plate and baths to get even. The firm near went crazy. The bakelight don't dissolve or anything, but you can't plate when it's in the bath. It's an anti-catholist. Some of those impurities the prof was talking about must keep the regular chemical actions from taking place, so you get when he's at. Old Jody sits down and howls. That stuff about the million monkeys is true, I point out.

I read that myself. in a science magazine. I got a hunch. There's more to his idea than he figures. If my laboratory was set up, I'd try it myself. Maybe I'd better had anyways. Fuck, weas his old Jody. You'll be the death of me.

He near strangles laughing. I get mad. Okay, I say, but I tell you right now, you'd better let me do it if you sure enough want that elixir. Icelandic spar ain't what he said. He's got good dope. But he's a phony. Old Jody thinks that's so funny, I go out and take a walk to cool off.

But the more I think about it, the better the prof's stuff looks. Next day, I go to the public library and hunt up alchemy. I get a bunch of books out in the reading room. Trice Majestis, Bacon, Theophrastus, Pereseltes, Count Graeby? I read them, fast, and taken notes when necessary. I get fascinated. The stuff sounds plenty convincing. I get excited.

It's as good as some science fiction. I fill my head up with the stuff and a notebook with memos. I go to a drugstore and buy some test tubes. I get an alcohol burner and some denatured. I go to a paint store and buy some more stuff. I have to hunt high and low before I can find a hobby shop with geological specimens. I get some stuff there. Florespar.

The clerk sells it to me. indifferent. Plenty of guys my age mess around with experiments. I get everything I need, except some eggskin. I go back to the hotel, lock the door, and put the stuff together. I have not got pure chemicals. A hunk of native sulfur. I catch some soot from safety matches that I burn one after another under a metal ashtray. I got a hunk of salmoneac, lump stuff, not what they sell at a drug store. Nobody will sell me oil of vicar. Nobody will sell me oil of but I get some at a garage where they have it for storage batteries. I got some iron pyrites.

I mix the stuff up careful. Makes an awful stink. I have to open the windows. I go through all the routine that a guy named Dr. D. says would make a universal solvent. Nothing happens. Nothing at all. I am pretty much disgusted. The prof's stuff sounded good.

If I'd read it in a science magazine, I would have believed it and remembered it. but nothing happens. Next morning, I'm having breakfast when I remember about the skin of an egg. That is crazy. It ain't scientific, not modern scientific, anyhow. But I go upstairs with an eggshell from breakfast. I get out that thin skin from inside and put it in the test tube. Nothing happens.

I get disgusted all over again. I sit down with a science magazine, and I am reading it morbid when I smell something funny. The test tube is empty. There's a little white vapor around the bottom. There is a hole in the test tube. There is a hole in the sink. There's a hole in the floor underneath it. It stinks something awful.

I don't know how far down the hole goes, but I know I've got to get a laboratory and work this business out. I tell old Jody about it. I show him the hole in the floor and the sink. He turns funny colors. You might have made poison gas, Buck, he says. You could have killed yourself. It could have been poison.

It wasn't a whipping cream, I agree. It's what those alchemists said they got. I got my doubts the prof ever did this experiment, even if he says he did. You better let me fix up a temporary laboratory and make that elixir for you. But Jody looks pained. Buck, he says,

I have sounded out, Mr. Vachty. I have explained that I have been softened up on this business. I have acted dumb so he thinks I have fallen for it. He is checking up. You have got to stay out of this party. But the prof ain't got to be making the real stuff, I say, grim. I'll bet. What kind of apparatus is he buying? Jody shows me a list. He is fat and white-haired and very impressive to look at. But when it comes to science, he has to take my word for things. I say scornful, phony. I hunted up Hermes Tri's Tri-Majest justice in the library yesterday and got the formula. That vacuum distillation apparatus ain't going to be used. It's just to dress up the lab.

It's wrong, eh? Says Jody. It's crazy, I says. Just good apparatus wasted. Fine, says Jody relieved. I didn't think he believed it himself. If he wasn't a crook, I'd be messed up. But he still got me worried. How's he going to pull that trick of making rats young again, Buck? Mr. Vachty wants to see that, him handling the rats. If the prof is smart enough to put that over, Mr. Vatchty is hooked. If I wanted to do it, I says scornful, I'd put some rats on short grub and castor oil and get them thin. Then I'd powder their fur to make them gray and probably get a vet to give me something to make them off their feet and languid.

They'd look plenty old, and all they'd need to get young again would be two or three days of good-eaten and no castor oil. Genius, says Jody, beaming at me affectionate. You take a load off my shoulders. Tomorrow, Mr. Vachdi and me, we look over the rats, and I bet you got the trick exact. The prof is mighty cagey with his two centimeters of stuff. Better let me make it for you real, I said, warning. You stay out of this, grunts Jody, scared again when he thinks of that hole in the sink and the floor. And don't go mixing up any more poisons, hear me?

He is honest worried. He ain't a bad guy. He's a crook, of course, but in his way, he's all right. Right now, he's paying for me to stay at a plenty swank hotel, passing for my uncle, which keeps me out of truer and officer trouble, and he tries earnest to make me appreciate souffle-Marin-Avé, Vec Pate di Fouigra, as superior to the hot dogs I eat a lot more frequent. But he is firm about me not making any more experiments.

Well, I can handle that. I got a sailbone, ain't I? I fix up a locker with a padlock, and I start accumulating materials, dunking into the library occasional to get more dope from translations of Hermes-Trice Majestus and Count Gravy and Nicholas Fulmele and so on. I get to be an expert on alchemy, which some ways is almost as interested in the science fiction, only not so likely.

It looks to me that with a good, thick, concrete screen and remote control handling of materials to take care of radiation, it might be a good idea to see if the philosopher's stone formula does give nuclear efficient. But right now, I try something with immediate practical use. I go after the elixir of you. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Be Young Again

By Murray Leinster This Librevox recording is in the public domain Be Young Again by Murray Leinster Chapter 3 It is surprising how hard it is to get some things Dragon's Blood, which the formula calls for ain't what you're thinking, and you don't buy it at an art store either and raw natron is not easy to get hold of.

I am almost stumped by ashes of mandrake, though. There simply ain't any mandrake in the United States. But I hunted up in the botany books, and I find a weed that's a close cousin. I spend two days off in the woods hunting it, and I find some and compare the leaves with those in the book. Then I got to reduce it to ash, and I'm drifting around in the bay with a terrific stink

and plenty of smoke coming from my apparatus. in the sailboat. It don't occur to me what it looks like, but all of a sudden there's a booming noise, and a fast motor yacht is streaking up to me, and it looms over, and a couple of tough-looking guys are looking me over. One of them says, "'You on fire, kid, want us to douse it for you?' I say, no thanks. I'm cooking lunch, and it got scorched. They look me over curious, and the motor yacht goes on its way. I read the name on it stern, and it's Mr. Vajdi's yacht. Even the sailors on his yacht look like those guys he's keeping himself surrounded by, people who remind him of the happy past when he was a bootlegged baron and rode around in a bulletproof car. They are tough-looking

birds, those babies. I don't see much of old Jody. He gets up in the morning and groans, has black coffee with brandy in it. Presently, he talks. He talks. to the bathroom, takes a long shower, and dresses up sporty and goes out. But he reports to be from time to time. One day, he tells me the rat business work out perfect, and the prof has put the bite on him for another five C's. Then he says the prof's equipment has arrived and is being set up. Him and Mr. Vachty go and look it over.

And I know that Jody sweats some then, but Mr. Vachste has merely told him firm that he is a sucker being swindled because Mr. Vachti's lawyer has told him so. But nobody is trying to swindle Mr. Vajdi yet, so there's nothing he can do about it. Then the prof begins his chemical work, putting together dragons, blood, and mandrake ash, and Natron and Agway. Old Jody goes and watches.

He says the proff puts on a good show, says Mr. Vachti is watching, and fair drooling with wanting to be in on what is a kind of party that just possible might be on the level. But he wants still more to be in on it if it's a swindle. Because just like Jody collects fond memories of having put over artistic tricks, Mr. Vachdi collects records of people sent to jail for all the known swindle games. He has no record of a man sent to jail for selling the elixir of life,

and he wants one to complete his collection. So, ultimate, he broaches the matter to Jody. If the prof is on the level, he says, He knows of a new career surpassing even that of bootleg barren, which he could embark on if he was young again. And if it's a crooked deal, it'll sort of climax his career, sending somebody to jail for trying to sell maternal youth.

Old Jody is fair trembling with the near realization of his ambition when he tells me this. The deal is made. Mr. Vatchee will put up 50 grand in cash for an equal dose of the elixir with the prof and Jody. If it works, the cash is his contribution. If it don't work, he gets it back. And Jody is shaky but resolute. Now listen, he says, Ernest. I'm checking a couple of bags at the airport, and they are important. I'm putting the car in the garage where you and me can get it out fast, but nobody else knows about it. If we've got to beat it, I'm going to be all set, but I am all set to pull out the

last business of making the elixir, and I got to be undisturbed. I got to do it private. I've gone to the dog pound and looked over the dogs, and there's an old pooch there that somebody sent to have put in the gas chamber. He is pretty decrepit, but he looks at me wistful when I speak to him. He's just old. So I have bailed him out, and he's tied up in the boat now. I'm going to tell Jody I'll be back late that night. He's a pretty good guy. I know for a The fact he never goes to bed without looking in to see that I'm all right, which in a way is insulting when a guy's 16, but in another way ain't so bad. My old man never done nothing like that. I feel kind of fond of old Jody, but I don't want him to know I'm making the elixir

until it's all done. He says unhappy. Buck, my boy, anything may happen. According to the prof's figures, the elixir is going to be finished today. It is a really beautiful setup. If and when the elixir turns out to be phony, he is the fall guy. I am absolutely in the clear. Yeah? I say. I've got to keep an alembic. That's a funny shape thing, which is really a very simple still that you can use as a tower still if you want to. I have to keep this alembic boiling for 12 hours continuous. I can't do it in the hotel. I've got to tie up my boat somewhere's to do it. I've got a place all picked out on an island off Las Lagoonus where nobody is going to notice me. There is a house on the island, but it is always closed up. I have a gasoline torch and everything is

set. But I'm going to be back late, and Jody might worry. I even figure I know what the professor intends, says Jody. It is crude. The professor. is not an artist, even at that. Mr. Vachdi and I take our money to his house. The prof and Mr. Vachdi and I take our doses of the elixir together. Then we are supposed to remain there unobserved until we are young men again. Then we take leave of each other, and the prof goes off to start his life anew with our contributions. I look at him blank.

Obviously, says Jody, in a tone suggesting he feels kind of a shame for the prof. The doses that he give us will be not. out drops. When we wake up, the prof will have departed with a large sum. Oh, I says. It is hopeless, crude, says Jody. My intention buck is simply to switch glasses. True artistry is always simple. But, well, if anything should go wrong on account of Mr. Vachti, I want you to have this. He hands me a roll that would choke a horse. And I hope you will think of me sometimes, Buck. I want you to take off in your sailboat now. Sail down the coast to Asperon's. It's only 25 miles. I will meet you there at sundown tomorrow. If I've beat it,

I will be there. If anything has gone wrong, do not try to contact me until you are completely sure it's safe. If it ain't safe, beat it. And will you shake hands? I think that actual the old fellow wants to hug me, but he don't. There are tears in his eyes, and his waddles are all red with emotion. But we just shake hands. He isn't a bad guy in his way. I am pretty fond of old Jody. But he's cleared the way for what I have to do. I go down to the sailboat, and he waddles along with me. I have some grub ready, but my apparatus is under the deck forward in the locker. Old Jody is surprise when he sees that dog wag his tail feeble at me. I explained that I just kind of picked him up. He will be company for you tonight, Buck, says Jody, wistful. You have blankets? Take care of yourself,

Buck. I'll do it, I says. Be seeing you. And I haul up the sail and cast off. Sailing away from the wharf, I see him standing there, fat and funny looking into sporty clothes, and I feel kind of sentimental about him. But I figure that when I finish up this elixir business, I will have something to sure enough pay up for everything, and he will treat me with more respect hereafter, besides. So I sail away, cheerful, get out the materials and cook myself a hot dog over the gasoline torch, look at the blue sky, admire the scenery, and sail casual to that island I got picked out. I haul my boat in under some trees and make everything snuck. It is singular peaceful.

There are little waves lapping on the shore and birds singing in the trees that cover the island, and now and again a little fish jump somewhere from a big fish chasing them. That old pooch lays down and sighs and looks at me grateful, and I get my stuff lined up. I build a furnace for my olympic out of rocks on shore. I light the torch and put together the stuff

that Hermes' trice majestic says will make the elixir. There is Natron, an Orpamon, and Dragon's Blood and Eggwhite, and Ashes of Mandrake, anyhow, next door to Mandrake, and the eye of a frog. I got that from a fancy restaurant where they serve frog legs, and both the frogs are shipped to them alive. There are other ingredients that don't make sense by modern science, but somewhere among them is a catalyst or an anti-catalyst that produces results which modern pure chemicals wouldn't give.

It would be interesting sometimes to figure. out how to make this stuff with modern chemicals. I start the olympic to boiling. About noon, I cook some hot dogs and eat them and drink some pop. The olympic is boiling slow, just like an otta, and making a very unusual smell. The color is a deep red with various elements swirling around it like tea leaves. I think of taking a swim, but decide against it.

I read some science magazines while the elixir of youth is simmering away, and presently I get sleepy and dose. off. Then I wake up again and refill the gasoline torch, cook some more hot dogs, and eat them. Around that time, it is near sundown. I hear a booming noise. I look out through the trees, and there is that motor yacht that belongs to Mr. Vachti that stopped to ask if I needed rescue in the day I was turning Mandrake route to ash. It is a quarter mile away, maybe less. I see Mr. Vachti talking to one of us tough-looking crew, and I see see. see the prof sitting in a deck chair with a sort of thick fog of gloom around him, and I see old Jody

nervous, taken a drink from a steward and putting it hasty to his mouth. I can't figure it. It ain't the schedule Jody told me. I watched the yacht, and it curves around the end of the island, and then I don't feel so good. There is a house on the island, but it is always shut up. I think it over, uneasy, and make sure my alembic is boiling okay. It's kind of bluish now, and the smell is different and still more unusual. So I sneak careful off through the woods, and presently I get to where I can see. The yacht is anchored, and a boat is pulling ashore. I go back to my boat and fret a while. Then I hear the yacht heading back toward Las Lagunas. I feel relieved. Around eight o'clock that night, my flashlight shows me that the stuff in the alembic has turned green. It stinks, something

fierce, but this is the regular change that Hermes Trice Majestus says ought to occur, so I feel pretty good. I drink some more pop and try to read by the flashlight, but it ain't so easy. So I just lay around. It's hard work keeping awake, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the night wind in the trees to listen to. I wish I thought to bring along a portable radio, but I didn't. So I take a swim, cook some more hot dogs, and offer one to the old pooch. He eats it uninterrusted, and lays down again. At one o'clock in the middle of the night by my wristwatch, the stuff in the Olympic is pale yellow, and there ain't much of it, maybe half a cupful.

And it's funny, but with all the junk I put in there, what's left is clear liquid. Exactly like the alchemy book says. I know that Natron, which is a sodium carbonate, had an audible. boil away like that, nor orpament either, and the madric ashes ought to stay as a sludge. But they ain't. I guess there was some gaseous metal compounds formed, like uranium hexafluoride, and they boil off, but I can't swear to that explanation. I do what the alchemist said they did, and I get what they said they got. I am kind of excited, but I wait until the stuff cools off, then I get the skin off of Frankfurter, soak up some of the elixir on the meat, and feed it to the old pooch.

I put the balance careful in a bottle I have ready. I am plenty sleepy by then because it is close to two o'clock. I go to sleep. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Be Young Again by Murray Leinster. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Be Young Again by Murray Linesster. Chapter 4

When I wake up in the morning, I feel pretty good. I hear something whining close by and sit up. There's that pooch. He looks a lot sprier than he has been, but he is hungry. When I feed him, he eats until his belly bulges out, and then lays down and goes to sleep. I take another swim. I ain't in no hurry.

I have until sundown to get to Esperance to meet Jody. I'm diving when I hear a booming sound underwater, so I come up and there's Mr. Vottsy's yacht streaking for the island again. I get on shore and watch from behind the trees. It goes around the end of the island again. About an hour later, it goes back to Las Laguna's. I get worried. Put on some clothes and go careful over to where the closed-up house is.

It is only one-story high, but it sprawls all over, and it costs plenty. But it isn't closed up any longer. The windows are open. and Mr. Vachdi is sitting in a deck chair on a terrace smoking a long black cigar. Then I blink. There's Jody, sporty clothes and all, waddling out to speak to him. I see a couple of men working around what I guessed was the kitchen. Then I see Prof. Henry Barr in person. He has been a spri-old goat, but he looks all drooped and unhappy now. I tell you, I get worried then. Something has gone wrong. I hang around, hoping that Jody will get off by himself somewhere so I can speak to him

without Mr. Vatchty getting wise. Then that pooch comes snuffling through the woods behind me. He's waked up and trails me by smell. He is frisky, and I can't expect him to have sense enough not to run out squirming and wagging his tail if he sees somebody or else barking at them. So I have to take him back to the boat and tie him up. I tie him to the mooring rope and feed him so he won't howl when I leave. Nothing has changed when I get back. Jody waddles around, looking bored, but I can tell he is nervous.

He doesn't leave the house. Occasionally, he speaks to Mr. Vachti like he is suggesting something. Mostly, Mr. Vachty just don't pay any attention. Jody don't have much to say to the prof. The prof just sits slumped in a chair and looks miserable. Noon comes and I go back to the boat. feeding the pooch and myself. I hang around near the house all afternoon. When I go back for something

else to eat around suppertime, the pooch near eats me up. He is that glad to see me. I take a good look at him. He isn't an old dog anymore. He is a kind of gangling, just grown puppy, falling all over himself and just busting out with energy. That elixir has worked on him all right. I make sure he is tied up fast when I leave. It is dark when I get back to the house. There are lights on in the windows. I sneak up close and make sure there isn't nobody watching outside. Presently, I duck up to where I can look in the window.

It is open, and I could hear. Mr. Vachdi says, in the voice that would curdle the alcahast, that hydrophloric acid that ate through the test tube in the sink in the floor, since I feel no physical changes, I will give you two just 24 hours more. Then what? asked Jody apprehensive. If by then I'm not a young man again, says Mr. Vatchty, spiteful, and I do not expect to be. My bodyguards will either put you each in a barrel of concrete and dump you overboard at sea,

which I do not think they have lost the knack of, or else you go to jail. Jody wheezes indignant. But there has been no offense, Mr. Vachty, he protests. You tried to swindle me, said Mr. Vashti peevish. Both of you. I deny that, says old Jody in fine anger, but I see sweat dripping from his waddles. Not one finger was laid on you or your money. Professor Barr made an experiment, which I financed.

You wished to share the results. It was agreed that you should have a dose of the elixir with us, and pay if it worked and not otherwise. But your men grabbed us and huff, us aboard your yacht and brought us here as prisoners. You have had the elixir, yes. You insisted that the experiment go on on your estate here. But if a crime has been committed, says Jody oratorical,

it has been committed by your hirelings. How will you stand in a court of law, Mr. Vachdi, when you are charged with kidnapping? I never hear exactly this kind of note in Jody's voice before, but I know what it is. He is scared. Mr. Vatchy has not been put through the ringer. Old Jody has a swell trick for it, but it doesn't work.

The prof is all set to give Mr. Vachti and Jody knockout chops, and Jody is all set to switch glasses so the prof of Mr. Vachti will be the ones to pass out. But Mr. Vachti crosses them both up by kidnapping them and the elixir and taking his dose in the privacy of his own home with his bodyguards around. Now Mr. Vachey laughs. and he has absolutely the most unpleasant laugh I ever heard on anybody. Do you think, he says ironic, that when I was active in business,

I never had anybody kidnapped? There is a silence you could have cut in chunks. Mr. Vachty laughs again. I have a hobby, he says, of putting people in jail when they try to swindle me. You two tried it. I admit, he says vexed, that you fixed it so I can't put you in jail for this actual job. Putting you in jail won't be the perfect example I would wish for my files.

But you go to jail or into a barrel of concrete. How can you send us to jail? Demands Jody, rather shrill. I count on your assistance, says Mr. Vachdi, venomous. My men have been with me for a long time. It has been years since they rotted anybody, except a stray burglar or two, and they miss their old-time pursuits. They took a pathetic pleasure and kidnapping you. It will seem like old times come back again for them to put you both into separate barrels of concrete and dump you overboard.

Even if it is the Pacific Ocean instead of the Chicago River they are dumping you in, they will regard the event with sentiment. They will bump you off with all possible artistic touches for old time's sake. Somehow, this statement is absolute convincing. I believe it. So does Jody. But jail? Pants, Jody.

In your career, says Mr. Vachty Grim, you have doubtless performed some feats that interested the police. If you do not want to be encased in concrete, you will tell me of such matters. I will have my lawyers, check up. If you can confess to enough actual crimes of which you are actual guilty to tuck you away for what I consider to be a suitable number of years, I will turn you and your signed confessions over to the cops. Otherwise, I can see Jody's face. He looks at Mr. Vatchty and Regulus. His

expression is filled with a fine disgust like somebody would feel for somebody who has cheated in a friendly game of pinnuckle for beers. Jody's ideals are outraged. To him, trying to swindle Mr. Vachti has been a pure matter of professional pride. If Mr. Vachti plays it like it lies, old Jody wins. Mr. Vachti is outsmarted complete on the artistic level. But instead of conceding graceful that Jody is a master artist, Mr. Vatchty plays it dirty. That, says Jody in bitter contempt. is the lowest trick I've ever seen any man sink to. It is not playing fair. It is welching on a bet.

It is my bedtime, says Mr. Vachti, in a voice several degrees harder than granite. I am going to bed. You two swindlers can confer and decide whether you go to jail or to the bottom of the Pacific. And he means it. Neither the prof nor Jody nor me has any doubt that he means it. He tries to play a swindle through straight, and he can't touch either the prof nor Jody legal, so he plays dirty to get even.

I lose the respect I used to have for bootleg barons from what I heard before I got interested in science. Old Jody puffs and grunts in the room Mr. Vachsi has left. Well, prof, he says disdainful, what are you going to do? The prof speaks for the first time that I hear. His voice is a shaky, wobbling, despairing moan. I, uh, there are a couple of cases of forgery I could help the cops to solve, he says feeble.

And once I got out a back window when some post office inspectors came to the front door. That was using the mails to defraud, and there are a couple of obtaining them money. under false pretenses wraps I could take, he says, and sobs. If Mr. Vachty will be satisfied with him. Old Jody squares his shoulders and throws out his stomach. I, he weezes, scornful, I sold a gold brick to the United States minted Denver. That will get me respect in any court, he says. And I shall go upon the witness stand and expose the despicable, the contempt.

contemptible conduct of Mr. Vachdi in this instance. And no artist, says Jody Proud, will have any further use for him. He'll be disgraced in the eyes of any worthwhile citizen. And Jody Waddle splendid from the room, leaving the prof dissolved in tears behind him. Well, it ain't so tough a job. This island all belongs to Mr. Vachti. There ain't any possible hope of escaping from it unless a yacht comes to take you back to shore. So there ain't even locks on the windows of the room Jody sleeps in.

What good would they do? I find out his room by just watching shadows on the window curtain. The light goes out. He comes to open up the window for fresh air, and I whisper to him. The breath goes out of him until I think he's going to strangle. I say quick that I got my boat tied up and waiting for him, And old Jody is scared all right. He eels out of that window waiting only to grab his pants,

and we beat it for the boat, only I remember to make him go quiet. On the way to him, I say to him severe, You'd ought to have let me make that elixir like I said. Then you wouldn't have been in this trouble. I told you the prof would mess it up. He had a good scientific theory, but he is a phony. You're quite right, Buck, pence Jody.

But let's go faster. It was good sound scientific reasoning, I tell him. Only because I ain't about 16 you had to decide that I couldn't make that elixir as good as the prof. All he's got that I ain't is long gray whiskers. Yes, yes, Jody gasps. You are a genius buck. How much farther? Then we reach the place where I can see the water again.

The pooch comes bouncing joyful to me and puts his paws all over me and licks me enthusiastic. He has got loose from where I tied him. him. I am peeped, but it is lucky he doesn't trail me to the house. I tell him to come on and keep going for where my boat is. Only it ain't there. I have tied the pooch to the moor line. Being a young dog with nothing in particular on his mind, he has chewed reflective on the rope like he would have chewed on anything else. He has chewed it in two. The boat has drifted off. I see it a good mile and a half away, bobbing pretty little. in the streak of light the moon makes on the water.

I can't swim that far. Jody and me and the pooch are marooned on Mr. Vatchee's private island, and come morning, that island is going to be intensive searched. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of Be Young Again by Murray Leinster. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Be Young Again by Murray Leinster, Chapter 5. When he realizes it, Jody cries.

He has put up a bold front in front of Mr. Vachdi in the prof, but he has been scared all the way down in his innards. Now he figures he's going to be caught and either dumped overboard in concrete or else put away for all of his declining years, and the grub in penitentiaries is terrible. Also, I got to give him credit for it. He is scared for me. I'm on the island.

I can't get off neither. and it is anybody's guess what Mr. Vatchy will think is appropriate for me. A reform school is the least unpleasing idea that turns up. But Jody looks for worse than that. I believe the old son of a gun is honest fond of me. But at that moment, it takes plenty of argument to make him take the only possible reasonable course. I suspect he thinks he will die, and that gives him his only argument back. He makes me promise that if he does die,

I will carry out the plan I had told him for the two of us. I promise, impatient, and give him part of a bottle of pop that was left on shore with some clear yellow liquid mixed with it. He gulps it down, gagging, while I heave overboard my empty bottles and hasty pack up the hot dogs I got left. I make a muzzle for the pooch so he can't bark,

and I use the line he's chewed off for a leash. We go hunting for a good hideout. We find one. I cover Jody up with leaves, and he's moderate comfortable. He talks kind of feverish and panicky about what a shame for her fine young lad like me to be in such a fix as this.

But he's run a long way is getting to where the boat should be, and he's walked plenty afterward. He ain't used to it. He goes to sleep all worn out. I dose off myself. Come morning, Jody is starving. I take a good look at him,

and I feel sort of funny. Things ain't working out the way I expect, but I don't say anything. I pass over hot dogs and Jody Wolfson. Nothing happens for a while. Then the yacht comes past the place where we're hiding, and later I see a couple of guys with guns roaming around. I cover up the pooch's nose with my hand. I don't want no whining. I have looked the pooch over more careful, and I am what you might call appalled. But those guys hunting for signs of Jody ain't fooling. They carry their guns very handy. We stay still. Presently, I see more guys also with guns. They are hard-looking fellows, sailors from the yacht. They hunt systematic. About the middle of the

morning, Jody realizes what is happening. The scene is terrific. There is practically hysterics. I figure that it must be that I don't have real Mandrae cash but something else, and it is pretty awful. In fact, Jody is so upset that once I figure I better take my chances with Mr. Vachdi. But I don't. After all, no matter how deplorable it is, Jody is still better off than in a barrel of concrete. I argue that way. I don't know that Jody agrees. I doubt it very much, actually. But there ain't any choice now. It's happened. Come sundown, we fix some emergency clothes out of a blanket because the pajamas Jody is wearing belonged to Mr. Vachti and would be recognized. The two of us and the pooch go barge and over to Mr. Vachey's house.

It is just about twilight when we get there. The yacht has been back to the mainland again and has brought out some dogs to track Jody down by smell. My pooch goes over amiable to make friends. There's a clamorous welcome from the other dogs. Very clamorous. Jody steams. Then I explained to a guy that we took. who was out sailing, we landed, and somebody stole our boat, and can they send words or our folks can come for us? It sounds like very respectable family stuff. There is a strange, profane silence. Nobody suspects it's Jody with me, of course. Mr. Vachtey looks us over, suppressing all the cuss words ever known to man. He says to Jody,

Do you usual wear a blanket? Jody says indignant. I was sunbathing. Mr. Vachdi says bitter, I can probably find some sailor clothes. I will send you back to the mainland. He would like to strangle both of us. He figures that the Jody he is after stole the boat and beat it to the mainland. He can't do anything to us because, he figures it can, Jody will be working out a list including kidnapping, coercion, threats,

and other illegal acts, and the police launch may arrive at any moment. He can't even dump the prof overboard because of his belief that Jody is on shore preparing a lawsuit. Actually, Jody is right there beside me, boil and mad, and wanting enthusiastic to murder me, only not daring to show it. It is a beautiful mess. Mr. Vachti has not got a scientific mind, so he can't make even a wild guess at what has happened. He don't believe in the elixir anyhow, and of course he wouldn't know that I had set out to make it. So never in a million years will he hit on the facts.

Jody goes inside the house and puts on the sailor pants in a sweater and leaves the blanket as a momento. They put us on the yacht and take us back to the mainland. Jody holding aloof because of the likelihood of committing mayhem if I come within arms reach. I go look at the yacht's engines. I observe that the prof is on board, wide as the sheet and trembling. He does not really believe he is reprieved, but he is. We get to the dock and go ashore.

Jody ain't even polite enough to say, Thanks for a ride. We march away from the dock. A dog comes up, looking cordial. Our pooch, hasty gets on friendly terms, and the two of them disappear up a side street. I don't care. I have Jody wait for me in a dark place,

and I get some of my clothes out of the hotel. Then I get the car, and we go get the suitcase out of the airport terminal. We salvage the baggage check out of Jody's pants, pocket and beat it the hell away from there. Jody's mad is one of those steaming ones, which one word let out will result in an explosion. There is hardly a word exchanged until we get to the next town and I pulled up at its swankiest hotel. Then I get out of the car and I say, well, so long, Jody. No, you don't, pants Jody grabbing me. We've got to settle this. You've got to do something about it.

You come along. We register getting rooms next to each other. Jody comes in my room boiling and sits down grim. The seat ain't comfortable. Then I blink. Jody is removing large, thick packages of banknotes, folding money from the hip pockets of the sailor pants. They go on the table.

They are impressive. Where did that come from? I ask, trying to postpone things. Mr. Vachty, says Jody Grim, was all set to pay 50 grand just to see proof that the elixir of youth worked. He told the prophet. He taunted him with it. He waved the cash in front of his face and repeated, sneering that he was ready to pay for it just to see proof. Well, I'm proof of a sort. He saw me. So when I went up in the house to put on these clothes, I stopped by where he had locked it up. I'm entitled to it.

But you, Buck, how did this happen to me? I feel very much embarrassed, but I've got it figured out, more or less. I say, uncomfortable. Well, Jody, I says. I guess it was because there ain't any real Mandrake in America. Ashes of Mandrake was called for, and I couldn't get any. So I hunted up a weed that is right much like Mandrake. May Apple is what they call it.

I use that. It's a close cousin, but it must have lacked one of those catalysts or anti-catalysts real Man Drake would have had. Jody grabs me and shakes hard. What happened? And how is it going to be fixed? Reluctant, I haul a notebook out of my pocket. I open up to where I copied old Hermes Tri-Trysmajustices formula for making the elixir of youth. Look, I say. The form is the form of the... is headed to make an old man a youth again. It gives the directions I tried to follow. I guess the answer is in this here last paragraph I come close to not copying at all.

It says at the end, To make an aged crone into a young damsel, The formula is ye same except ye ash of mandric is to be left out. Jody wax me. Hard. Wow. To be fair, I guess I'd done the same. But anyway, Jody and me have a nice, right cottage now,

and I got a pretty good private experimental laboratory in it, and I'm working on the problem of adjusting matters in a more nearly normal way. Jody ain't been after me so much lately, though. It looks what you might call a sort of change of viewpoint is developing. Jody always did go in for fancy clothes, and the opportunity in cash for fancy clothes are on the job. Jody dresses magnificent and is kind of looking the world over from a new viewpoint. The new viewpoint gets more tolerable as time goes on.

I am treated with a certain amount of respect and, like I said, I got a swell laboratory. I pass for Jody's brother. Jody seems to treat me like a kid brother too. She gets mad as hell when I tell her she uses too much makeup. End of Chapter 5 End of Be Young Again by Murray Leinster Read by Paul Hampton