In the back of my mind I was hoping Eric's complaint of cold was an excuse. If my first impression had been right, if he had something to tell me, he would tell it better indoors. I should hear it better, sitting beside him.
The pang2 when he passed the sofa by! I was wrong.... I was an idiot....
He drew up before the ungenerous little fire and began at once to speak with suppressed excitement of a "secret."
"——the sort of thing that—well, I wouldn't trust my own brother with it." And upon that he stopped short.
I did not say: "You can trust me." But I hardly breathed in the pause. I felt it all hung on whether he told me. What hung? Why, everything—whether life was going to be kind to[Pg 216] me some day ... whether it was well or ill that I had been born.
He seemed to be content with having told me there was a secret. For he changed the subject abruptly3 to the Bungalow4, and what an adept5 Bootle was at inoculation6 and the preparation of cultures. Bootle possessed7 the great and glorious faculty8 of accuracy! One of the few men on earth whose account of a thing did not need to be checked.
Sitting over the fire that morning, Eric told me that the Bungalow was a laboratory. Very important work had been done there last autumn. (So that was why he had stayed on!) "Tentative but highly significant results" had been arrived at—results which all these months of contest and putting to proof, in London and on the Continent, had not been able to upset.
"Gods!" Eric exclaimed, with a startling vehemence9. But this was a glorious place to work in! The best air in England! And the Bungalow had been an inspiration from on high! Far away from noise and interruption; and not merely for a few paltry10 hours. Great stretches of time to himself! Then you were so fit here.[Pg 217] You slept. You had all your wits about you. As we knew, it was Hawkins's idea in the first place—that Eric should come down and rest. Well, now I was to hear something more about Hawkins. Hawkins was a kind of mascot11. He not only was the best man they'd ever had in that chair at the University. He wasn't only a first-rate bacteriologist, and first-rate all-round man. There was something about Hawkins that struck fire out of other people. His rooms were a meeting-place for chaps keen about—well, about the things that matter. Hawkins gave a dinner at his club one night to some London University men and a couple of distinguished12 foreigners.
"Of course, we talked shop. We argued and stirred one another up, and the sparks flew. When the rest had gone Hawkins and I stayed talking in the smoking-room. About an idea"—Eric looked round to see that the door was shut—"a new idea I was working at for dealing13 with cancer."
"Dealing!" I echoed, leaning forward. "You mean curing?"
"——I told Hawkins about an experiment I'd been making. As I've said, Hawkins is very intelligent.[Pg 218] But he contested my conclusions. I grew hot. We argued. I told him more and more. Hawkins thought my experiments too rough-and-ready. Even if they weren't rough-and-ready, to be conclusive14 they must be tried on an extended scale. I stood up for the validity of tests, on a small scale, done with an infinity15 of care—a ruthless spending of the investigator16 rather than multiplication17 of the subject. All the same, I couldn't deny that precious time was being wasted and many lives. Hawkins was right. I did need a trained staff, and I needed—oh, masses of things I had not got, and had no prospect18 of getting. We had tried the forlorn hope of a Government grant—and failed. We agreed that, in working out an idea like mine, the crucial danger lay in premature19 publicity20. We are in a cleft21 stick in these matters. Without the right people knowing, believing, helping22, it is hard—pretty nearly impossible—to go forward. I sat, rather dejected, and stared at the fire. The smoking-room had been empty except for a little, dried-up old man, who was half asleep over the evening papers. A few minutes after Hawkins had gone out to pay his bill, the little old man waked up[Pg 219] and went to a writing-table. In a half-minute or so I looked round, and he was standing
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER XXII PLANTING THYME
Back
Next:
CHAPTER XXIV MADAME AURORE
(Right Keyword:->)